by Cindi Madsen
Shane didn’t appear to be very excited about the news. He turned to me like he wanted a different answer—or perhaps something more—but I didn’t want to get into it. My stomach roiled, either from the alcohol or the stress of dealing with my ex, or possibly even from the rock of guilt that’d taken up residence in my gut and grew heavier by the second. “I’m actually feeling kind of sick,” I said. “I just wanna go home.”
“I’ll take you,” Shane said, placing his hand on my back. As much comfort as it provided, I knew leaning into it like I wanted to would up the guilt factor, and I already felt like a horrible person.
Before I got the chance to tell him that wasn’t a good idea, Finn took in Liam’s glower and stepped up to me on the other side. “I’ll take her.”
Even though I’d come to the conclusion that I couldn’t go with Shane, I missed the heat of his hand immediately.
You’ve really made a mess of things this time. In less than a month, too. That had to be a new record.
…
First thing on Monday, I received an urgent text from Dad, giving me a whole hour’s notice about a meeting he needed me to attend in his office. I’d contemplated skipping the meeting and showing up late for work to show I wasn’t his puppet, but I decided it’d be easier on both of us if we just pretended to have an employee/employer relationship. Then I wouldn’t hope for more, and it’d be harder for him to disappoint me.
When I strolled in, a Big Gulp of Mountain Dew in hand, Dad and Finn sat on opposite sides of the couch—not like they were in a fight or anything, but guys had some unspoken rule about sitting too close if there was another option, like how they’d leave a movie theater chair between them if they could.
I glanced at Liam seated opposite the couch in the roller chair. “Ooh, are we finally having that intervention to get Liam to call Chelsea and make things right so we can actually bear to be around him again?”
Nearly identical scowls twisted Liam’s and Dad’s faces, while Finn hid his grin behind his hand.
“Okay, guess not. Tough crowd, tough crowd.” I stepped over Dad’s legs, choosing to bypass the middle couch cushion in favor of perching on the armrest next to Finn. It seemed like the safer option. Bonus, Finn fist bumped me for my hilarious comment. “Are we expecting—?”
“Morning,” Shane said as he stepped into the room. His gaze snagged on mine for a moment before he leaned back against the wall, one ankle casually crossed over the other, his arms folded in a way that brought out every muscle in his arms, from his bulging biceps to his defined forearms.
Finn nudged me, and I noticed Dad was suddenly paying super close attention to me. I wasn’t sure if it was for ogling Shane, or for…whatever bug had bit him. At this point, it was anyone’s guess.
Dad ran his fingers over the stubble on his chin. “I heard there was an incident Friday night at the Fainting Goat.”
My stomach bottomed out. “No one threw a punch. If anything, I started it, but Conrad was the one who showed up after he heard I was there.”
“I thought you didn’t care if Knox got the chance to fight him,” Dad said, blunt and tactless as usual.
“I never said…” My temper flared to life, and Finn put his hand on my knee like he planned to hold me back if I lunged at Dad. But damn, did he have to make me sound so cold and heartless? He didn’t even understand what he’d asked me to do in the first place, or why it was so hard for me—that or he simply didn’t care, and while I knew our relationship was rocky, I didn’t want to believe it was quite that destitute.
I looked at Shane, afraid I’d see hurt, but he’d thrown up his emotionless mask. “Out of context, I know that sounds bad,” I said. “I want you to get the chance, if not with him, with another fighter at his level. That’s why I taunted him at the bar.”
Dad’s stern expression cracked, and then he grinned, ear to fucking ear. “It worked. Conrad insisted you fill the open slot, Knox. You’re back in the game. I could hardly wait to share the news.”
I placed a hand over my rapidly-beating heart. “But what? You thought you should give us all panic attacks first?”
“I thought this would be more fun. Make you all worry for a second or two and then surprise you with the good news.”
The man really had no idea how to have fun. Making me sound shitty and then saying the equivalent of but eventually you came through, so yay, you’re useful again.
Everyone looked at one another as if they were afraid to believe it. As I thought about the reality of Shane in the cage with Conrad, my emotions whipped around in a confusing tornado. Worry, relief, fear, excitement. Since excitement was what Shane needed, I grabbed hold of that one and held on tight. “That ego of Conrad’s is going to get him in trouble, but I’m glad it worked.”
“It’s all set?” Shane asked, and I could hear the barely-contained enthusiasm in his voice. “For real?”
Dad nodded.
“And if I’m not mistaken, we’re talking the same night and venue that one of my all-time favorite fighters, Tyrone “Cyclone” Jones, is going to attempt to regain the middleweight belt.” Shane looked almost scared to say it aloud, like that would make it no longer true. “That’s the night I’m set to fight Conrad Rochenski?”
“The same night, same venue, in front of the same huge crowd,” Dad said. “That means we’ve only got a little more than six weeks to get ready, so I wanted your team all here. We’ve got to make a plan and get to work.”
I dragged my thumb over the beads of condensation that’d formed on my cup. “What am I going to do? Threaten to go over paperwork with anyone who doesn’t hit their marks?”
“You just proved what an asse—” Dad seemed to remember that we’d had a fight about him treating me like an asset instead of his daughter. “We need you on our team, Brooklyn. The gym runs better now than it has in a long time, and that’s thanks to you. We’re better with you here. Right, boys?”
At least they were as afraid of me as they were of Dad, because no one enthusiastically chimed in. Not for several beats anyway.
“Of course we’re better with her here, but she’s not better,” Liam said, shocking the hell out of me. “She’s exhausted and trying to catch up on all the shit that fell between the cracks, and that’s an unfair amount of pressure to put on her. Especially when you add ‘promoter’ into the mix.”
Dad cleared his throat, as if to say, hey, we have company. Let’s not air our dirty laundry.
Liam ignored it and looked at me. “When’s the last time you picked up a paintbrush?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. Not in the three weeks I’ve been here, though—I haven’t had the time.”
“That’s not okay. Take some time off to do that, and sooner rather than later—that’s an order. I’ll do however much laundry I need to, and I’ll even file fucking invoices if that’s what it takes.”
Now I felt bad about that intervention joke. I missed my hobby, and he missed his, even if his was a person instead of an activity.
“We’re getting off topic,” Dad huffed. “We need to get a plan in place to get Knox ready for the fight.”
They talked strategy, and when my dad and brothers were wrapped up in talk of drills and schedules, Shane caught my eye, placed his hand at on his chest, and mouthed “Thank you.”
Come on, heart. Stop fluttering like that. Don’t you remember the last time you fell for a fighter? I’d tried to talk myself out of my attraction for weeks, but it was no use. A part of me wanted him and had from the first day I’d walked into this gym. A big part that didn’t want to remain quiet anymore. At the bar, he’d asked if I would really want to help him land a girl for the night, and while I’d experienced a pinch of jealousy when I saw him talking to the brunette, that thought sent waves of it through me.
It wasn’t fair for me to ask him not to date or to hook up with other girls, and it wasn’t fair to keep dating Trey when my attraction to Shane refused to stay buried. No matter how much I justif
ied my actions at the bar, guilt still weighed me down. I’d been relieved when Trey told me he’d be up in the mountains at his family’s cabin all weekend, with very limited service. It gave me more time to sort out my emotions. Not that I’d been successful, but there’d been a moment when I’d begrudgingly admitted to myself that my attraction ran deeper than simply looks and a healthy dose of lust. I liked Shane, and in way more than a friends-ish way.
But this fight changed everything. It meant the small bubble of free time we’d had was about to pop, and I was afraid if I didn’t slowly drift away, I’d find myself on my ass when it did.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brooklyn
As soon as we came out of Dad’s office, I took a large step toward Liam and threw my arms around him. It’d been a while since we’d hugged—he was more of a back-clap type—but we found our mushy groove after a second or two. “Thank you for what you said in there. And I’m sorry for what I said about Chelsea. Even if it’s true.”
Liam looked down at me, one corner of his mouth kicking up. “Typically during an apology, you don’t point out how right you are.”
“As someone who’s experienced one of her”—Shane made air quotes—“‘apologies,’ I can attest that that’s the way hers go.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just couldn’t help overhearing.”
In spite of my crappy realization that I needed to erect an extra wall between Shane and me in order to survive the hectic month ahead of us, I reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Congrats on landing the fight.”
He opened his mouth, but Finn’s voice broke through first. “Are we going to stand around holding hands while we sing ‘Kumbaya’? Or are we going to get this lucky bastard”—he slapped Shane on the back—“ready for his fight?”
“My vote’s ‘Kumbaya,’” I said, “and I’m recording that shit and putting it on YouTube. Three big badass fighters singing songs of praise? It’ll be viral by the end of the day.”
“Yeah, along with questions about our sexuality,” Liam said, half grumble, half amusement.
“Brooklyn?” My happy vibes wilted as I glanced over my shoulder at Dad, who stood in the doorway of his office. “I wanted another minute with you. Please.”
I shoved my three guys toward the cage. “Go get to work, lazy butts. I’ll come over to demand you drop and give me twenty in a few.”
I turned back to Dad. “What’s up?”
“I’d make a comment about how naturally you fit in, but I know it’d only make you mad.”
“Good thing you held back, then.”
He glanced around and then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I know I’m not always an easy person to deal with.”
I figured shouting Cosign! wouldn’t make this conversation go any smoother.
“I am trying,” he said. “Liam’s right, though. You should take some time for yourself. To do your painting. And I can’t thank you enough for helping Knox land that fight. It’s going to be good for him, and good for Team Domination.”
“Well, I did it for him. He deserves it.”
“He does.”
The silence stretched, the way it often did between us. Finn was somehow in my head, even from across the gym, telling me to try. “I can appreciate how much you care about your fighters, and all you’ve built here. I’m also glad that you brought me to the gym with you when I was younger, and that I was taught self-defense moves and how to throw my weight behind my punches and kicks at an early age.”
My gaze drifted over the bags I’d learned to hit and then back to the guy who’d first taught me how. “When I say I don’t want a permanent position here, I’m not saying that I don’t love this gym”—I got unexpectedly choked up, my words clogging my throat for a second before I could get them out—“or love the buzz of a good fight. I’m just saying that I also need something that’s mine. I need to love what I do, the way you love what you do.”
Dad nodded. “I get that.”
My skepticism must’ve shown, because he added, “Well, I’m trying to.” He glanced at Finn and Shane, already running through drills while Liam barked commands at them. “Liam is off since Chelsea moved away, isn’t he?”
Since we were giving the nice thing a go, I kept my response on the softer side instead of leaning toward my more comfortable sarcastic one. “It’s definitely a factor. He seems more stressed in general, too.”
Dad let out a long exhale. “We’ve had a hard year. A hard two years, to be honest.”
“I see the books, so I kind of figured. Maybe take, like, ten extra seconds to consider my idea about opening it up to the general public and offering classes.”
“I—”
“That’s not even close to ten, Dad. Think about how much can happen when you hear that slap of wood that means ten seconds is left in a round.”
He absentmindedly cracked his knuckles, doing one hand and then the other. “That’s usually when I decide I could survive anything, even not having oxygen.”
I sighed. I pulled out all the fighter analogies and everything, and I still couldn’t get through to him.
“I promise I’ll think about it,” he said, placing his hand on my arm. “Depending on how Knox’s fight turns out—that’s gotta be my main focus for now.”
In this instance, he and I actually wanted the same thing—for Shane to win—so I decided I could give him that, even if it meant he’d need someone else to set it up. I also wanted to be crystal clear on that point, no more jabs about if I stayed and my duty to the family. “I’ll do my best to get all the bills sorted out and have you up and running before I leave, but I am going to leave. I know you think my art’s just a hobby, but gallery internships are hard to land. The one I have lined up is pretty much my dream job, and if I do well there, it could turn into a full-time thing. I can’t let that opportunity go to waste.”
His lips pursed but he nodded. “Maybe just visit more often?”
“That can probably be arranged.” My worry was that every time I came back, I’d see Shane and slip back into this world, and there was too much about it that wasn’t good for me.
…
“You never asked for twenty.”
After staring at the bright laptop screen for so long, it took a couple of blinks for my blurry vision to sharpen. Shane stood across from me, his forearms crossed on the countertop, which was a nice sight and all but didn’t help with my brain putting thoughts through to my mouth. “Huh?”
“Push-ups. Because I could totally do them.”
Of that, I had no doubt. But I’d taken it upon myself to keep his ego in check, so I said, “I can do twenty push-ups, so if you came over to impress me with that, you’re going to need to go bigger.”
He leaned closer, those green eyes of his doing the wolfish, unnerving thing. “Trust me, endurance isn’t something I have a problem with.”
I reached for my drink, then abandoned it, worrying he’d read too much into it—whether or not he’d come to the correct conclusion was inconsequential. “Walked right into that one.”
“Afraid so.” His cocky mask dropped, sincerity showing through. “I owe you, bruiser. This is the big break I’ve been hoping for, and it’s all because of you that I get to step into that cage.”
“So you’re thanking me for the fact that you’re going to get punched and kicked a lot?” I shook my head and clucked my tongue. “Talk about a masochist.”
“Babe, whenever I’m around you I’m a masochist. But make no mistake, I’ll be doing the majority of the punching and kicking in that fight.”
“Yeah, as long as you stay standing and land some of those solid punches and kicks you lean too heavily on. If you go to the floor, though…” I tapped my pen against my desk, going into analytical mode. “Your grappling game is going to need more work.”
“You don’t ever let up, do you?”
“Not for some guy who begs for more.” It came out before I realiz
ed how it’d sound. Time to draw the line. “I’ll make sure to pass on my advice to Finn, since he’s the ground-and-pound specialist. Now if you’ll excuse me, boring facts and figures await me.”
Speaking of… I frowned at the figures onscreen. That can’t be right. I must’ve missed something.
“I’ll give you till tonight.” Shane took a step back, his gaze locked on to mine. “But then I’m coming for you.”
Those words trickled down to the cracks that’d formed in my walls, whispering that maybe everything didn’t have to change. Maybe I should stop overthinking and just enjoy what time we had together, even if it couldn’t go the way I was tempted to let it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Shane
“Don’t even think about it,” Liam said when he caught me smiling at his sister. “She’s leaving at the end of the summer, and you can’t afford split focus. Especially not now that her little stunt worked.” He stepped closer—clearly he wanted to really drive the menacing thing home. “I also don’t want to see her hurt. She’s had enough of that.”
The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt her, but when I opened my mouth to say so, he cut me off.
“Let me guess, you’re going to say that you won’t hurt her. I’m sure that right now, you think that’s possible. But why don’t you rewind a year or so back and think about what your training and fighting schedule looked like. Think of all the traveling, and how rarely you saw your family and friends.”
Those days were a blur, one workout after another, one town and venue after another, the next fight on my mind the second the final bell rang and I was declared the winner.
“Isn’t that your goal?” Liam asked. “To get back to that level?”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the fame and the perks that came along with it. I’d gone from an absolute nobody to a somebody, and it wasn’t easy going back to being nobody. As much as I’d roll my eyes every time the commentators would call it a comeback—like it was an overnight thing instead of over a year of putting myself back together and hard work—I wanted to show them that I didn’t stay down.
