by S. E. Lund
"He freaked. You were starting law school and he has big debts. He thought he was investing your money in this sure thing…" He sighed and finished his coffee.
A nurse came down the hallway to where we sat. "Celia?" she said, peering around the corner. "Your brother's waking up."
I jumped up and went to his room, where a nurse tended to him, offering him some water from a glass with a straw.
I went to the other side of the bed and took his hand in mine.
"Hey," I said, my eyes brimming. "You're waking up."
He nodded almost imperceptibly. He tried to say something, but he had his jaw wired and I could barely make out what he said.
I leaned down and put my ear to his lips. "What did you say?"
"I lost it all," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
I glanced at him and saw tears slipping down his cheeks.
"Shh," I replied and stroked his cheek. "I know. Mark told me. Don't worry about that. You've got to get better. That's all that matters."
He shook his head slowly. "Go to Hunter."
I frowned.
Hunter. There could be only one Hunter.
Hunter Saint.
"I can't," I said and shook my head. "You know better than that."
"Go," he said through gritted teeth. "Go to him."
"No, Graham, he hates us. He hates me."
Graham shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "Go to him."
"That's like going from the frying pan into the fire." I wiped tears off my cheeks. "He's as bad as this Stepan goon who beat you up."
"No," Graham said. "He's not."
My brother's former oldest and best friend, Hunter was now an enemy, thanks to Spencer, and there was no way Hunter would help.
"I'm so sorry," Graham said again, tears overflowing from beneath his swollen eyelids.
"Shh." I squeezed his hand again. "You go to sleep. I'll figure something out."
"Go to Hunter," Graham whispered again. "Don't call Spencer. Don't."
"But I have to tell Mom you're in the hospital..."
"No," he said and squeezed my hand hard. "Don't tell Spencer. Go to Hunter."
I didn't reply. Hunter was the last person I wanted to go to but did I have any other choice?
Chapter 2
Fifteen Years Earlier…
Celia
There were whispers about Hunter's family. In the school halls, in the playground. In my own house. "He's Irish," my grandmother said when she saw him the first time. "Stay away from that one. The Saints are trouble, the lot of them. I heard they have pirate blood in them, no doubt about it."
My stepfather said the elder Saint brothers were dirty, corrupt, mixed up with organized crime, and their sons weren't far behind them, destined to be just as criminal as their fathers.
I didn't care. At nine, I was intrigued by the drama and had no idea what ‘organized crime’ meant. Besides, Hunter was what my nine-year-old self considered a total hunk.
He was everything an adolescent girl could desire: buff from years of training at his father's club, Saint Brothers Gym and Boxing Emporium, with longish dark hair that flopped in his eyes, pale skin, and blue, blue eyes.
Hunter had a sexy smile that turned my insides to mush. Back then, I didn't know why I liked him, but I did, sensing something in him that would one day send women into paroxysms of lust.
"Pretty Boy Saint," they called him in the fighting circuit, because he still had a perfect face, his nose straight and his features symmetrical despite fighting since he was ten. My stepfather called him "Bad Boy Saint" but to me, he was just Hunter.
The man of my dreams. The only one I wanted.
Hunter's older brother Sean had hoped to go pro, and had taken up mixed martial arts. He was fierce-looking with his busted nose and glistening muscles, pumped from working out, tats across his chest and back. But he'd been in one too many fights where he’d gotten knocked out, and was no longer able to fight. He'd suffered brain damage and was now reduced to being the caretaker at the gym.
Hunter's younger brother Conor was fast becoming a skilled boxer, but back then, it was Hunter everyone placed their bets on to go to the Olympics. He was quick on his feet and fast with his hands, or so Graham told me as we stood at the side of the ring and watched Hunter practice, kicking and punching his trainer's gloves.
When Hunter was done, he leaned over the ropes and looked at Graham and me where we sat on the sidelines. He was a sight to behold with his hair wet from exertion, his fair skin pink and his muscles pumped.
"Hey, Celia, you wanna try?" Hunter asked, giving me a crooked smile.
"Yes," I said, jumping up without hesitation. I'd do pretty much anything Hunter asked. I turned to Graham. "Can I?"
He shrugged. "Go ahead," he said with a grin. “Be gentle with him. Don’t want him to lose that pretty-boy smile.”
I climbed up and through the ropes to stand in front of Hunter, who was almost two feet taller than me. Even at fifteen, Hunter was built. He had on a pair of black boxing shorts and his chest was bare. His hands had been wrapped in cotton tape and his skin gleamed with sweat. He took some smaller boxing gloves from the side of the ring and tied them onto my hands. I couldn't help but stare at him while he fastened them, in awe and somewhat breathless at being so close to his beautiful and unmarred face.
He must have known how impressed I was, because he glanced down into my face, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Excited?" he asked, as he finished tying one glove.
I nodded, at a loss for words, as usual.
He showed me a few stances and how to guard my face, then I punched his practice glove a few times to get my bearings. When the instruction was over, he put the practice glove down and stuck out his chest, his hands on his hips.
"Okay, Celia. Take your best shot."
"You want me to…" I said, stammering. "To hit you?"
He nodded. "Go for it. Hit me as hard as you can. I can take it."
I held my gloves up and jabbed at his abdomen. To my utter shock and horror, he fell back, dropping to the floor in pain.
At first, I was appalled—I didn't think I'd hit him hard. Then I realized he was faking me out, and I frowned.
"Hun-ter!"
When he saw the look on my face, he doubled up with laughter. On the sidelines, Graham laughed out loud, enjoying Hunter's little game at my expense.
Hunter got up and came over, rubbing my head playfully. "It's okay, Nibs," he said, using my nickname. "You'll get better. Everyone has to start somewhere."
Nibs. I hated that nickname. My cheeks grew hot with embarrassment that Hunter knew it and, even worse, used it. I'd received it because of my flat chest and noticeable nipples, which seemed to always stick out at the worst times. My stepdad Spencer wouldn't let me get a real bra, saying I was too young, so I had to cover my chest instead. I spent a lot of time with my arms across my chest.
"Don't call me that," I said, fighting not to pout like a child, but it crushed me to have Hunter—of all people—know my nickname.
"It's okay," he said, his voice soft. He bent down and looked in my eyes. "One day you'll have real tits and no one will call you Nibs. I heard that the longer you go without getting them, the bigger they'll be. Then all the guys will be lining up to be your boyfriend."
"I hope so," I said, mortified that Hunter was talking about my non-existent breasts, but somewhat mollified at the thought that I had a nickname-free future where boys might line up to date me.
"Now, hit me for real." Hunter stuck his chest out again. "Put everything you got into it."
I tried again and this time, I landed a punch with a solid thwack!
"See?" Hunter said with a chuckle. "You can do it. You learn to fight and no guy will ever mess with you, boobs or no boobs."
I nodded, then he led me over to a punching bag.
"Hit this for a while. Graham and I have to go out back for a minute."
"Okay," I said, and proceeded to punch the bag
instead of him. He hopped out of the ring and he and Graham went out back—to do what I had no idea—and I was alone with the punching bag. I hit it listlessly, no longer interested now that Hunter was gone.
While I was punching the bag, imagining Hunter returning to spar with me some more, my stepfather showed up, entering through the front doors of the gym. I stopped hitting the bag and watched as he scanned the gym floor looking for Graham.
When he saw me, his face changed from usually-grumpy-Spencer to really-angry-Spencer.
How I knew that face…
"What the hell are you doing here?" He stomped over to the ring. "What are you doing with boxing gloves on? Don't you know you could get your teeth knocked out? We spent thousands of dollars on those braces." He jerked his arm. "Get out of there."
I jumped down from the ring and stood silently while he unlaced my boxing gloves, his hands roughly pulling them off before they were properly untied, hurting me.
Even at nine, I knew that was his intention. Spencer liked to hurt me, spanking or slapping me at every opportunity.
"Where's your brother?"
I shrugged.
"Don't tell me he's left you here. How many times have I told him to be responsible? That boy…"
"He's out back with Hunter," I said finally, not wanting Spencer to punish Graham. Then I bit my lip, realizing I should have kept my mouth shut. As much as I hated him, I was also afraid of Spencer. He had a mean streak and you never knew when he might snap and haul off and whack you.
"You stay here," he said, and forced me down on the bench beside the ring. "I'll be right back."
In a few moments, Spencer entered the gym from the back, one hand circling Graham's bicep, pushing him ahead. Graham and Hunter had been out back, smoking in the back alley behind the gym—and not just tobacco cigarettes, either. Smoking a spliff, Graham called it. Marijuana. Not a good idea when your stepfather was the assistant DA.
"Let's go," Spencer said and pointed to me. "You're both in trouble."
That was the last time I went to Saint's Gym for almost ten years.
Chapter 3
Present day…
Celia
I sat in the cramped ICU room and watched Graham sleep.
I had to decide what to do. My biggest concern was paying back the loan shark Graham went to. How would I pay back one hundred and fifty grand? As if that wasn’t enough to worry about, I needed the money to fund my room at Kirkland House. At fourteen grand a year, it was expensive. I'd have to find another part time job if I wanted to stay.
Graham’s breathing was slow and deep. I watched him, fearing that something would go wrong and he’d go into a coma or cardiac arrest, but he seemed stable enough.
I needed a drink, my mouth was so dry from anxiety about Graham. I left the ICU room and found that Mark was still waiting in the alcove.
"How is he?" he asked when I plopped down beside him.
"He's sleeping now, but he was okay. He told me to go to Hunter."
Mark nodded. "His best friend from his MBA?"
"They were friends from the time they were in middle school. Best friends until a few things happened and now they're officially enemies. Our families are enemies."
"He's rich," Mark said. "His family's got lots of money."
"It's dirty," I said and ran a hand through my hair, which had fallen out of my makeshift bun. "Besides, there's no way Hunter will be happy to see me, even if I'm begging on my knees."
"That's a lot of money to pay back," Mark said smiled sadly at me. "Maybe you need dirty money to pay back dirty money. He might charge you less interest that the usual loan shark. Better terms since you're old friends."
"I don't know…" I sighed and went over to the vending machine in the alcove. I reached into my bag and removed some quarters to buy a bottle of water. It fell into the bottom of the machine with a heavy thud. I took the bottle and sat back down beside Mark.
"I have to figure out how to pay for my room at Kirkland House," I said and opened the lid to the bottle, taking a big drink. "Or find a room to rent. Oh, God, when Spencer finds out Graham lost my trust fund…"
Mark nodded. "Spencer's not likely going to step in and save the day."
"He couldn't afford to anyway," I said and imagined how much Spencer would freak when he learned what Graham did. Mark knew our family dynamics well enough from being Graham's business partner. "It's not like they have thousands lying around even if Spencer was willing to help, which he won't be."
Spencer was the new DA and while he had a nice income, he couldn't just pull up one hundred and fifty grand on short notice. He'd probably disown Graham when he found out what he did with our inheritances.
I shrugged, numb about what to do. "I can get a second job."
"And go to Harvard Law?" Mark said doubtfully. "Graham said your scholarship was based on your grades. Can you keep them up and work two jobs?"
"Looks like I'll have to."
We sat in silence for a few moments.
"Loan sharks are dangerous, Celia. They'll kill Graham if he doesn't pay up," Mark said quietly. "Maybe you should go to Hunter."
"I know they're dangerous," I said and shook my head, although that was starting to seem like our only option. "He'd laugh in my face."
"I thought you and Hunter…" Mark said, his voice trailing off suggestively.
I turned and made a face at him. "You thought what?" but I knew what he meant. Hunter and I had a thing once upon a time. Or should I say, I had a thing for Hunter.
"You and Hunter hooked up. At least, that's what Graham told me. Spencer freaked." He raised his eyebrows.
"Graham should keep his mouth shut."
I frowned, remembering back almost four years to the one night – one amazing night – with Hunter before all hell broke loose between Spencer and me. Between Spencer and Graham.
I never saw Hunter again until his brother's funeral last year, and even then, I didn't say a word to him. He never once met my eyes when I stood off to the edge of the crowd gathered for Sean's funeral. I didn't have the guts to go up and give my condolences, so I only observed from afar. Even Graham didn't have the balls to go to his former best friend in person, sending a card instead.
Hunter hated us both.
"Hunter hates me for good reason."
"You broke his heart?"
I shook my head. "No," I said and made a face. "It's because of me that Spencer went after his family. Spencer's a nutcase, in case you didn't realize it. He had a vendetta against the Saints, and made them pay. It's because of Spencer that Sean died. It's because of Spencer that his uncle's in prison."
"I never met Spencer," Mark said and leaned back in his chair. "But Graham's told me a lot about him. And you."
"We're the family from hell," I said and drank down half my bottle of water. We had such a nice life before my father died. Then some drunk driver went down the wrong side of the freeway and hit my parent's car head on. My dad died and my mom was disabled. Spencer worked with my Dad and he just seemed to take over and my mom was so damaged physically and emotionally that she let him.
I looked at my bottle of water and wished it was something stronger. I needed a drink at that moment, but that would wait until I knew Graham was out of danger. Then, Amy and I would go out to a bar and get drunk.
"Well, I've got to get back to work," Mark said and stood up. "Tell Graham to take it really easy and not to worry about work. I've got things covered at the office."
I stood up and Mark gave me a brief and awkward hug. Then he left me alone with my worries.
I went to the nursing station once more to find out more about how Graham was doing.
"When can he go home?" I asked the doctor.
"We'll do another CT tomorrow and see how he is, but he's regained consciousness and seems to be okay in terms of his function. We'll know more tomorrow morning after the CT but you can expect he'll be in ICU for at least another twenty-four hours. Maybe on the neuro ward fo
r a few days and then rehab."
"Thank you," I said and went back to my brother's side to start my vigil.
I spent the rest of the afternoon at Graham's side but when eight o'clock came around, I decided to go home. Graham had woken a couple of times during the afternoon, but he was sleepy and the pain meds they gave him made him doze with not much to say.
I kissed his unbroken cheek. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. You sleep now and get better, okay big brother?"
"Call Hunter," he whispered.
"I will," I said and squeezed his hand. "You sleep now."
He moved his head just slightly, enough to signal yes, and then he went back to sleep.
On my way out of the hospital, I texted Amy and she was there in twenty minutes to pick me up. I stopped in the cafeteria and picked up a bag of chips to eat for my dinner. Finally, Amy drove up.
"How's Graham?" she asked when I got inside the passenger seat.
I told her what happened, including the loss of my entire inheritance. She was suitably horrified.
"Oh, my God, Celia. As if Graham being beat up wasn't enough. What are you going to do?"
"I have no idea. I need to find one hundred and fifty grand, and fast."
"Jeeze," she said and we sat in silence for a moment. "Now what?" she asked as the car idled. "What do you want to do now?"
"Get drunk," I said, feeling like I could cry.
"My exact thoughts. Where to?"
"The Brass Lantern and quick," I said. I was exhausted but on edge at the same time. "I need a drink or three."
"The Brass Lantern it is," she replied and off we drove.
Chapter 4
Celia
I’d worked as a bartender part time for the past two years at the Brass Lantern, a pub that many Harvard students frequented, and it was my pub of choice when I was off work. I knew the entire crew and got drinks at a discount, so of course, given my new status as impoverished non-trust fund baby, I had to watch my pennies.
