It was one of the reasons why he’d loved it so much, why it had been his favorite place growing up. When he walked past the lobby and receptionist desk, past the lockers jutting off the entry hallway, and entered this big room, he could feel the importance of this place. That history was being made here.
And he’d almost been the one to make it.
“Hey, Kieran!” Kane called from an octagon to his left. Kieran headed over and saw that he was sparring with Rory, probably training for his upcoming regional fight, which would be followed almost immediately by the statewide fight. Kane was fixing to be the next Rory, at least the Rory from before he blew out his knee and got hooked on prescription pills.
Kieran felt proud anytime he saw his twin in the octagon. He knew how bad Kane wanted the fame, the attention, the title. He’d thought he wanted those things, too, but really, he just loved the physical act of taking his body to the limit. The one time he’d entertained a future in MMA, he’d been miserable. Everything was so strict, so regulated. It took the fun out of the sport.
But when he’d found a way to skirt the rigidity and still make money, he’d ended up in prison. Turns out gambling is the real sport in illegal street fighting. Very little about the entire sport appealed to him now, except the pure enjoyment of being all fists and sweat, and moving lithely around a cage.
“What are you doing here?” a sweaty Kane asked as he leaned against the cage and stared at Kieran. Ace dutifully lay sleeping outside the cage, waiting for Rory.
“Thought I’d get in a workout, see the old place.”
“Want to spar?” Kane directed at Kieran, then turned to call over to Rory, who was getting some water. “Hey Rory, can we tag in K?”
“Like you’re ready for that,” Rory scoffed, heading in their direction. Kieran noted that Rory didn’t say hi or acknowledge him directly, and he didn’t really care.
Kane stood straighter. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means he’s not in your weight class anymore.” Rory eyed Kieran’s large frame.
It was true. While once he and Kane had been completely identical, even in size, that was no longer the case. Kieran had gained so much muscle weight in prison that he’d quickly surpassed his brother without even trying. Well, he had been trying, but his reason had nothing to do with Kane. He’d needed to be able to fight off anyone who tried to shank him in the prison yard.
“Fuck you both.” Kane huffed. “I can take him.”
Kieran laughed. It wasn’t often he got to feel superior to his twin. “Relax, Kane. I promised the next fight to Tate.”
“Like I said, fuck you both,” Kane repeated before turning and walking toward the center of the cage. Kieran’s eyebrows shot up when he saw the back of Kane’s shirt.
“What the hell, Kane? You stole my name?” Kieran balked.
“Uh,” Kane turned around quickly to hide the Kane “Killer” Kavanagh written on the back of his shirt. “You weren’t using it.”
“You little shit, I’ve been using ‘Killer’ since I was in middle school. People here still call me that.” Kieran shook his head, irritated as all hell, before turning to Rory. “And you just let him do that? You’re his trainer.”
“I told him you’d kick his ass for it.” Rory shrugged indifferently. “We all did. Kane’s more stubborn than Ma.”
Kane looked sheepish for all of a minute before he was over it. Kieran wasn’t, though. It was like his family had barely thought of him while he was away—out of sight, out of mind. He wasn’t mad only at them, though; he was mad at himself. He’d done this to his own life, and now he was living with the consequences. Turning on his heel, he headed toward the weights to get in some circuits.
Adjusting the lat pull-down machine to the highest weight he could do, he slid onto the bench and began his reps. It had been several days since he’d done any weights, and the burn in his back and arms felt great. He made a mental note to keep coming regularly but to find a time when his brothers wouldn’t be there.
With sweat glistening across his forehead and his biceps straining, he soon attracted the attention of a pretty brunette who’d been using the leg press a few feet away. Sauntering up to him, she leaned against the side of his machine to watch him. He glanced up at her between reps but didn’t say anything. He didn’t recognize her, but it was obvious what she was doing.
Her arms were crossed, pushing her breasts up so they were spilling over the top of her sports bra. Her hair was expertly done and hanging to the side; her makeup was fresh and heavy; and there wasn’t an ounce of sweat on her hairline or a sheen on her face. He narrowed his eyes a bit; he didn’t care for people who came to gyms primarily to be eye candy instead of to get a workout.
“I haven’t seen you around here before.” She smiled seductively, tossing her hair over one shoulder and offering him her hand as he finished a rep and stood up. “I’m Trixie.”
“Kieran,” he replied gruffly, not wanting to give her an inch. He noticed a few men looking on jealously. The attention made him wonder why he was eager to get away from her. He’d just spent two years abstinent, and it had sucked. He should be jumping on an opportunity for an easy lay, and as he looked her up and down, he could tell that everything about Trixie screamed easy.
“Good to meet you, Kieran. Hopefully, I’ll see you again soon.” She leaned in way too close, practically sandwiching her breasts against his chest as he felt her hand brush his. “Very, very soon.”
With that, she pulled away and walked off, taking care to sway her hips from side to side for his viewing pleasure. He glanced down at his hand, which unexpectedly held a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he saw Trixie’s name in pink, encircled by little hearts, plus her phone number.
His upper lip curled in disgust as he realized he hadn’t seen her write it, and that, considering her attire, there was nowhere on her body she could have hidden a pen. The slight warmth of the paper told him it had probably been tucked into her clothes, along with who knows how many copies, as if this was something she did all the time.
Yeah, definitely not the kind of girl he wanted.
Two years ago, he would’ve been fine with it. He would have used her for a night and parted ways, never to think of her again. In all likelihood, she would have done the same. Now when he looked at her over-the-top girly handwriting, all he could think of was Fiona and how he would be willing to bet she’d never do something like this. He didn’t think she worked out at all—Fiona was slim but with very little muscle mass. If she did come to a gym, he knew she’d be all business, not carrying around little bits of paper with her phone number inside her bra.
“Ready to spar?” Tate walked up to him, bringing him out of his head. He’d spent many a night back in the day getting blitzed with Tate and others, and they had managed to find their way into all sorts of trouble. Tate had even been there the night Kieran was arrested. He was a total asshole, and everyone knew it.
“Let’s do it.” Kieran nodded, feeling the overwhelming urge to hit something. Tate’s cocky face would be as good as any punching bag. Crumpling the note, he tossed it into the nearest trash can.
“What was that?” Tate asked as they walked to the nearest cage.
“Just some chick’s number.”
Tate looked incredulous. “And you tossed it?”
Kieran shrugged, saying nothing. It didn’t really seem like a big deal, and he wasn’t sure what Tate was getting at.
“Kieran, it’s a chick. Guaranteed pussy! Why the hell would you turn that down? Especially after just being without it for a couple years.” Tate’s jaw was almost reaching his chest.
“Not interested.”
“Oh, shit!” Tate’s hand flew to his mouth, not hiding a wide grin very well. “I get it now. Damn, didn’t expect that from the Killer, but hey, whatever works for you, man.”
Kieran frowned, turning to look at Tate. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you being a
fag,” Tate sneered.
Kieran’s head jolted back as if someone had just smacked him, and he stopped in his tracks. Tate had always been crude, but this was going too far.
“I’m not gay, asshole.” Clenching his fists, Kieran tried to breathe evenly. He’d spent his entire prison sentence keeping away from those types of activities and refused to be accused of it now. He had no issue with people living their lives the way they wanted, but he was as straight as they come.
“Did I hurt the queer’s feelings? Aw, I’m so sorry.” Tate laughed. “Must be so hard being around all those men in prison, so hard to decide who to let plow you in the ass first.”
In less than a second, Kieran had turned to face the bullying brute and had slammed his forearm into Tate’s throat. Pushing him backward, he pinned him against the concrete gym wall with one thick arm. Tate squirmed and pulled at Kieran’s locked arm with both of his hands, unsuccessfully.
“How I was ever friends with you is a mystery to me,” Kieran said, his eyes burning a hole through Tate.
“Fuck, let go,” Tate gasped, struggling to breathe and still clawing at Kieran’s arm.
“Don’t be such a shithead, Tate, or next time I won’t be so fucking forgiving,” Kieran said through gritted teeth less than an inch from Tate’s reddening face. “I don’t want to be the one to teach you some damn manners, but if you throw around words like that in my family’s gym again, I will.”
“Kieran!” He recognized his brother’s voice behind him. “What the hell are you doing?”
Several hands grabbed Kieran’s shoulders and pulled him back, releasing Tate from his hold. Kieran shook everyone off him. Tate choked out a few labored breaths, falling to his knees and rubbing his neck. He glared up at Kieran, unable to speak yet.
Kieran faced Kane, Rory, and several other fighters who had surrounded them, putting both hands up in assurance that he was done. He knew he’d just taken a big risk, because if Tate were to report him, what he’d just done could be considered a parole violation. His unplanned outburst could put him back in prison, but at the moment, he didn’t care.
“Walk away, Kieran,” Rory instructed.
“I’m going. This caveman just needed a little lesson in manners.” Kieran headed toward the front door, knowing his brothers would ensure the issue was dropped by Tate.
The truth was, even with the risk, he wasn’t sorry. He’d do it again.
Chapter 7
The next day Kieran found himself frowning at the children running around the courtyard at the youth center. He’d already been there a few hours, and he hadn’t seen Shea once. Fiona hadn’t walked by the construction site this morning, either. Nora didn’t even know where they were; she had simply told him Shea hadn’t come in today.
He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, but he felt unsettled without her around.
“Kieran, you need to relax. You’re all tense, and several of the kids were complaining that you yelled at them during boxing practice,” Nora said as he walked into her office at the end of the day.
“Not boxing, it’s mixed martial arts.” Nora had agreed that Kieran could teach the older kids a very light, abbreviated version of MMA, that the exercise may help them release their anger and energy in a more controlled setting. The main thing he taught, long before techniques or anything physical, was responsibility and respect for an opponent. They weren’t allowed full contact, and everything was slow and practiced, no hits. The kids seemed really open to the idea, although they were eager to advance in the sport. Nora had told him if it went well, they could figure out a way to make it part of the program.
“Either way, what’s got you so upset today?” she asked.
“Some of them just run their mouths and pick fights, acting like punks and bullies for no reason. I don’t like it.”
“I get it, these kids are not easy to be around. That’s why they’re here, but even I can tell you’re a bit on edge today.”
He liked how direct and open Nora was. He felt as if he could be himself around her and not have to censor his thoughts and words. He’d noticed that she had an innate understanding about people that made her take everything in stride, seeming to figure out easily what made people tick.
“Yeah, maybe,” he conceded after a pause between them. “Sorry.”
“I’m headed to O’Leary’s tonight for a pint and to watch the game. Want to join? I know drinking is probably a parole violation, but you could still have a soda and just relax. It seems like you need it.” Nora slid some files into her oversize purse. Pulling on a cardigan, she stretched her arms and then let her hair down from the bun it had been confined to.
Kieran watched, not blind to how beautiful this woman was. For some reason, though, her looks did nothing for him. It’s not that she wasn’t his type, because a woman like Nora with a body like that…she was everyone’s type. Still, he just wasn’t interested. Twice in the last two days he’d felt that way around women. He was starting to worry something was wrong with him.
“Yeah, that actually sounds perfect.” He hoped a night out watching the game and socializing would reassure him that he hadn’t suddenly lost his masculinity.
“Awesome. You drive, because I’m going to drink,” she said. “Wait, can you drive with your record?”
“My conviction had nothing to do with cars, so yes,” Kieran told her, glad for small mercies. He would be devastated if his license had been revoked because of his record. His parole also didn’t stipulate that he couldn’t drink, but he’d rather not tempt fate. If he was going to have alcohol, it’d be a drink or two at home, not in a rowdy bar where he could get himself in trouble.
He had zero desire to go back to prison thanks to a bar brawl, or to the partying lifestyle he’d led before. He’d never been a huge drinker, but he’d used both alcohol and drugs recreationally, when others had pressured him in the past. He definitely didn’t want to go back down that road, even if only for a night.
About twenty minutes later, he and Nora walked into a gritty, hole-in-the-wall Irish pub. Longer than it was wide, the bar lined one side of the place, with booths on the other. Small cocktail tables were in one line down the middle, and people were already filling most of the seats watching a football game on the wall-mounted television screens.
A few faces turned in their direction, their eyes going huge as they recognized him. Holding his head high, Kieran ignored the whispering as people moved out of his way and more eyes turned to him. The room seemed to shrink away from him, an undercurrent of fear throughout.
“Jeez, I feel so unpopular,” Nora whispered as they crossed the room and headed toward the bar.
“Sorry, that’s my fault.” He shrugged, not really caring what anyone thought. Everyone in Woodlawn knew who he was, and who his family was; therefore, they all knew what he had done. This was a reaction he’d become quite familiar with over the last few days.
“Oh, good. I was starting to think I smelled or something.” Nora seemed more at ease now that she felt the pressure was off. “Wait, is this because of your record?”
Kieran nodded. Word had traveled fast about what he’d done, and news of his conviction even faster. He was used to the stares at this point—he’d been encountering them everywhere since he’d gotten back in town.
Nora shook her head, one corner of her mouth tilted down. “That’s stupid. Why do people get so hung up on labels and all that? It happened, it’s over, why talk about it?”
Kieran nodded again before pointing to some open seats at the end of the bar. “Let’s sit there.” He preferred sitting at the end, where he had the extra room he needed for his large frame. Old habits die hard for a fighter.
She nodded, and they sat, then waved down the bartender. Kieran immediately recognized the beautiful, wavy-haired blonde as she walked over to them. She wore a simple black tee and pants, with a small waitress apron tied around her waist. The contrast between her all-black outfit and her bubbly yellow hair and
dark green eyes was mesmerizing.
“Hey, it’s Clare, right?” Kieran greeted her with a smile that reached his eyes. Rory’s girlfriend was clearly not as judgmental as some of his family members, and he appreciated how a total stranger had stuck out her neck for him at Sunday’s dinner.
“Kieran!” Clare reached out a hand and squeezed his. “It’s great to see you here. Who’s your gorgeous date?”
“I’m Nora, and I’m definitely not his date.” Nora introduced herself with a handshake and an infectious smile.
“Wow, you’re eager to make that clear, huh?” Kieran teased, his brows raised and a smile spreading over his lips. He wasn’t interested in dating her, but it certainly didn’t help his ego to know she had no interest in him, either.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Clare’s cheeks flushed crimson. “I didn’t mean to start—”
“It’s fine. I’ll just have to pine after Nora in secrecy,” Kieran joked.
Nora rolled her eyes at him, and Clare laughed. “Can I get you guys something to drink?”
“I’d love a Coke,” Kieran said.
“And I’ll have a vodka with cranberry. Ignore Kieran’s lies. I’m just not dating anyone right now. I’m dating myself, and it’s the best relationship I’ve ever had.” Nora leaned over the counter toward Clare. “I’ll be honest,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I think I may have found The One.”
Both women erupted into more laughter at her comment, and Clare walked off to fetch their order. A few minutes later, he and Nora were enjoying their drinks, and Clare was leaning against the bar chatting with them.
“So why are you working here, Clare? I know Rory’s doing better than me when it comes to finances, since he signs my paychecks,” Kieran asked, not really caring if the question was rude. If she was going to be part of the Kavanagh clan, she’d have to get used to the prying that came along with it.
“Who’s Rory?” Nora butted in.
“Oh, I’m dating Kieran’s older brother,” Clare told her before turning to Kieran. “He wishes I wouldn’t work here, always has. I went down to just two nights a week, though, so he’s a bit happier about that. I like earning my own money to pay my own way, you know? I’m going to school, and I don’t want him paying for all of it, so I try to contribute when I can.”
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