Shift (Hearts and Arrows Book 2)

by Staci Hart

  He nodded.

  “And second, if you have anything but noble intentions, you need to leave. She’s been through enough, and I still think it’s too soon. Don’t prove me right. Do you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear.” He turned his gaze back to Kiki, who was heading to the back with her arms full of rubber mats. “I’m usually the one who gets dumped, if that makes you feel any better.”

  Kat laughed and tossed a scoop of ice out of the bin and into the bucket. “Well, good luck with Kiki because she’s a man-eater. Though I will say, you’re not her usual type, so there’s hope for you to break the cycle.”

  “And what’s her usual type?”

  “Big, douchey meatheads. Sorta like your brother.”

  He smirked. “Touché. I really am sorry about him.”

  Kat shrugged and transferred more ice to the bucket. “It’s all right. You’re far more pleasant anyway. I’m glad she’s into you and not him.”

  “Me too,” he said with a smile that reassured her more than she’d ever admit out loud.

  Day 3

  Brian shouted countdowns and instructions, moving the pads on his hands at intervals as Dillon circled him in the gym, his eyes trained on the targets.

  Shift, pop, shift, pop.

  Every thump of his gloves against the pads reverberated up his arms, into his mind, alongside her name.

  Kat.

  The night had passed slowly, his body undeterred by his attempt to wear it down. The shower he’d taken didn’t cool him off. The darkness never brought sleep. The ceiling had remained the same blank sheetrock at four as it had been at midnight when he climbed into bed. His ears had strained in the blackness for sounds of Owen, but the sound never came. Instead, there had been a ding from his phone with a message that Owen wouldn’t make it home, that he’d be staying at Kiki’s.

  That had brought him no comfort either.

  And so, he’d lain in bed, holding his rightness up against his mistakes, considering the how and the why of his feelings regarding the sisters who had done nothing and everything to upend Dillon’s life.

  The first problem sister — Kiki — was too late to solve. Owen was in — all in. The pieces were already in play, including his heart. The look on Owen’s face when he’d walked in the door that morning said it all, and so Dillon had to let it go. It was going to happen with or without his permission, just like Owen had said. There was nothing to be done but back Owen up and be there for him if things fell apart.

  The second problem sister — Kat — was unsolvable.

  At some point in the small hours of the morning, when his frustration had ebbed, he’d found himself torn over his feelings for her, but one realization had risen to the surface, underscoring the war between them — he was the point of animosity, the fulcrum that had kept the situation teetering in and out of civility.

  He’d been a dick to her, plain and simple, and she hadn’t stood for it.

  That alone had set a fire in his belly. He’d discovered that he loved the challenge of her just as much as he hated it. She wouldn’t roll over; she’d buck up and bark back.

  Never in his life had he met someone like her. She was fierce and strong, smart and sharp, but she’d cut him just as quickly as he could grab her. But, more than anything, he discovered that she was real, more real than any woman he’d ever known. She needed no one but herself and her sister.

  He understood that more deeply than he could express.

  The minute his mother had died, he’d been alone, besides Owen. The walls he’d built were just as much for his protection as they were to protect everyone else from him. And those walls were impenetrable to everyone but his brother.

  In high school, when everyone else had been dating and partying, going to prom and worrying over the homecoming court, Dillon had been surviving beatings from his father — blood payment to keep Owen from enduring it in his place. When everyone had gone off to college, Dillon had been fighting in warehouses for money to pay for his apartment while Owen finished school. While people had been getting married and having kids, he’d become the king of an empire demanding solitude, working to pay for Owen’s college.

  Dillon never had a chance at normal, but Owen would. Owen would have everything he wished for, and Dillon would do anything to provide the future he deserved.

  The longer he fought, the more he disconnected from the world. He’d been surrounded by people and was still completely alone. With winning came cash and fame, and with cash and fame came women. But it was all empty, all in vain. They wanted to be in his corner at fights, on his arm at parties, in his bed at night. They didn’t want him, and he didn’t want them either.

  None of them had found their way past the wall. None had even found their way to the wall to lay their hands on the cold stone and ask for entry. And he’d never shown them the path to get there.

  Behind that wall was nothing but blood and bones, and passing the gates would lead you to the beast inside. And that beast was untamable, wild and hungry. That beast would destroy anything that got close enough to find out the truth.

  Kat, Kat, Kat.

  Somehow he found himself he wanted to show Kat the way. She was a force of nature, just as he was, and he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if his force met hers, what kind of noise they would make when they collided.

  Maybe she had a beast of her own. Maybe she would lope through the gate and match him step for step, roar for roar. Maybe she was strong enough. If she wasn’t, he couldn’t guarantee her safety. And that was why he couldn’t let her in either even if she might be able to withstand him, even if she wanted to.

  It doesn’t matter, he thought as Brian leaned into him to tolerate the battering of hiss aching hands. She wanted nothing to do with him, and he didn’t blame her. He’d insulted her, challenged her, hurt her on purpose for no reason other than he didn’t know any better.

  He had never been good with words. He was good at anger, at fighting, at hands and blood and sweat; those came easily, a second nature of war and pain that separated him from everyone he’d ever known.

  Brian halted him with a countdown and lowered his hands with a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, his eyes heavy with concern. “You could use a break.”

  Dillon nodded once.

  He walked over to the stool in the corner of the ring and sat, pulled his gloves off, and poured water from his bottle over his face and hands. With hot hands and an aching chest, he combed through his soaked hair, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his palms.

  The very core of who Dillon was had been molded by the fists of his father . The two were alike and nothing alike. Dillon had fought against that which they shared but never won. He’d taken the anger, the violence, and turned it into a job, given it a valuable purpose in his life, but there was no denying his nature. There was no stopping him from becoming his father. There was no stopping any woman he might find to love him from suffering the way his mother had. There was no stopping any children from that bond from finding themselves caught in the cycle he’d been in.

  And he could never let that happen. Even if that meant he’d be alone for eternity.

  It was the little things that Dillon always remembered about his mother — the blueness of her eyes, the sound of her humming softly as she’d stood at the sink, the lilt of her voice as she’d told him goodnight, her small hands pulling the covers up to his chin.

  She’d only wanted to keep them safe. In the end, she couldn’t even protect herself.

  One morning so many years ago, when he was ten and Owen five, the two of them sat at the table, eating Cap’n Crunch and exchanging pages of the funnies.

  She stood at the sink, her powder-blue waitress uniform crisply pressed. A dishtowel was slung over her shoulder, the sun shining in through the window lighting her blond hair like a halo as she swayed, glancing over her shoulder with a smile at her sons.

  Dillon was colored like summer, golden and sweet,
with a strong nose like his father and blue eyes and fair hair like both of his parents. Owen had none of his traits. His hair was the color of chocolate with eyes that matched, his body long and lean, with a button of a nose.

  The differences were recognized by all four, his father most of all.

  The door to his parents’ bedroom slammed, and she dropped a dish in the sink with a clatter. The three of them stopped all movement, even down to their ribs, breaths held, the world frozen as if they were caught in amber.

  Jimmy walked into the kitchen, blond hair jetting in every direction, thick stubble smattered on his heavy jaw. His dirty white tank top was half-stuffed in his rumpled pants from the night before, and the stench of sweat and whiskey hung around him like a fog.

  They had moved to America for a better life, but things in Brooklyn were no easier than they had been in Ireland. And instead of meeting his lot head-on, he met it at the bottom of a bottle.

  No one moved as he pulled out his chair, the scrape of the legs against the linoleum floor marring the heavy silence, and when he sat, he fixed his eyes on Dillon, who hadn’t realized he was staring.

  “The feck are you lookin’ at, gobshite?”

  Dillon dropped his eyes to the comics. “Nothin’.”

  Jimmy turned his cold eyes on his wife. “Where’s me tea, Moira?” His voice was low, body tight as he leaned on the table.

  Moira wiped her hands on her towel, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll pour you a cuppa.”

  She opened the cupboard for a teacup and saucer, poured a cup from the kettle waiting on the stove, and walked across the kitchen to deliver it to him. Every move was deliberate. Every move screamed in its silence.

  He looked down at his tea and back at her expectantly. “And me eggs and toast?”

  She turned back to the sink, hanging her towel on a hook with trembling hands. “Jim, you’ve slept too late. I’m to go now. Me shift is startin’.”

  Jimmy stood and stalked to her, stretching taller with every step, and the moment he was close enough, he grabbed her wrist and held it up, yanking her into his chest with hate in his eyes and venom on his lips.

  “You’ll make me eggs before you go, whore, or your wee Owen and me may spend some quality time together when you’re gone.”

  Her eyes darted from Owen back to Jimmy, her throat working as she swallowed. “I’ll be late. They’ll fire me.”

  “Then you’d best get started, eh?” He flung her wrist back at her, and she held it to her chest, turning to the refrigerator to pull out the eggs with unsteady hands.

  Tension pressed on Dillon with every second — the crack of the eggs, the sizzle of the pan, the fear of his brother, the anger of his father — as Jimmy glared at Owen from across the table, hatred rolling off him in waves.

  The only way out was through the door. If they could get out before their mother, they could stay gone until she came home. Until they’d be safe again.

  “Da, can me and Owen go outside?”

  His eyes snapped to Dillon as he picked up his tea. “All the better. I won’t hear your racket if you’re out. Football’s on.”

  Dillon nodded and glanced at Owen before slipping out of his chair and taking his brother by the hand. His mother held the screen door open, and he looked into her blue eyes brimming with sadness and fear as clear as the tears caught at the rims of her lids.

  It hadn’t been long after that when she died. And then there had been nothing between them, nothing to stop Jimmy.

  Nothing except for Dillon himself.

  He stared at the dark spot on the gym floor between his feet, spreading with every drop of sweat that slipped from his nose.

  There were so many reasons to stay away from Kat, too many. But he couldn’t help but wonder what if, even though he knew the answer. If he went after her, he could end up caring about her. And if he cared about her, if he let her in, he could lose it and hurt her. And if he ever hurt her, he’d never forgive himself.

  Brian ducked into the ring and rested against the ropes. “Want to talk about it?”

  Dillon sighed and leaned back, hanging his elbows on the ropes behind him. “Did Owen tell you about his new girl?”

  “The bartender from the other night?He did. He told me about her sister too. Said you went full T. rex on her. Ate her face right off.” Brian mimicked pulling his face off for illustration.

  Dillon would have laughed if he didn’t felt so shitty about it. “Twice.”

  “And you’re upset about it because …”

  “I might have been out of line.”

  “Might have?” Brian arched an eyebrow.

  “Okay, I was way out of line. I went there to apologize and ended up picking another fight instead. And then I challenged her to a drag race.”

  “Owen told me that too.”

  Dillon’s teeth clenched. “Well, why the fuck did you ask me if you already knew the whole story?”

  “Because I like watching you squirm,” he said with a shrug. “Owen also told me she’s going to kick your ass.”

  Dillon turned his head, not unhooking his arm from the ropes as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “I’d deserve it.”

  “Classic Dillon. Big mouth strikes again.” Brian crossed his ankles in front of him. “She’s hot, man. Too bad you blew it.”

  “Yeah. I’ve never seen anything like her.”

  Brian eyed him. “You like her.”

  Dillon huffed. “I don’t know how I feel about her. Don’t be dramatic.”

  “Don’t gaslight me. I know when you’re into somebody, and you’re into her.”

  “And if I am? It’s not like it’d matter anyway. I can’t keep my shit together, and who knows if she’d be worth the trouble.”

  Brian laughed. “Girls like that are always worth the trouble.”

  But Dillon wasn’t buying it. “I’m not stable enough to be with anyone, and we both know it. One moment, one snap — that’s all it would take.”

  Brian lifted his chin and looked down the bridge of his nose at Dillon. “Listen, have you ever snapped on a chick before? Like, actually snapped?”

  “I’ve never stuck around long enough to give myself the chance.”

  “Then can’t say you know if you’ve never tried.”

  “I don’t want to risk it,” Dillon said with a shake of his head. “It’s too much weight to carry.”

  Brian assessed him through a pause. “You’re not your dad. You know that, right?”

  Dillon looked back at the dark spot on the floor between his feet.

  Brian pushed himself off the ropes and knelt in front of Dillon. “You have more humanity in your little finger than your father had in his entire body. Who he was, what he did — that was his choice, and you are not him. You would never have choose his path. You would never do what he did.”

  That much was true. He wouldn’t choose. But if he lost his self-control, if that anger took him over, he would have no choice.

  Brian stood and hit him on the outside of his knee. “Now, come on. You’ve got a fight coming up, and I’m not going to have my reputation tarnished by you losing.”

  Dillon chuckled and stood. “Your reputation, huh?”

  “You heard me, strong man. Let’s go.”

  Dillon pulled on his gloves, wanting to believe Brian was right, wishing he had control, wishing for a normal life and a normal brain and a normal past. But he could wish all he wanted. Things were what they were, and as long as his father’s blood pumped through his veins, he’d never be free.

  Kat looked up from her book, eyeing her sister, who sat sideways in an armchair with her arms slung over the side, chatting with Owen and grinning like a teenager.

  Kiki giggled. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” She set her phone in her lap, fingers still resting on the case, like they wanted to be connected to him still, and sighed dreamily.

  Kat snickered. “You’ve got it bad.”

  Another sigh as she stretched out, her e
yes big and twinkly and lovesick. “He’s just … it’s just …” Yet another sigh.

  “Do you have some sort of leak? Should we get you checked out by a doctor?”

  Kiki rolled her eyes. “You’re such a killjoy.”

  “No one should be allowed to be that happy.”

  But Kiki smiled. “I like him so much. It’s so weird; I barely know him, but I’ve never felt like this before.”

  “You say that every time.”

  “I mean it, Kat. Something is different with him.”

  Kat flipped her book closed. “I’m not gonna lie — I didn’t think we’d see Owen again, so I was surprised to see him walk into the bar last night, but I should have known better. They always come back for you.”

  Kiki bit her lip and looked down at her phone.

  “I’m sorry,” Kat said with hot cheeks, both of them thinking about Eric. “I didn’t mean it that way. I actually kind of like Owen, mostly because he’s a complete one-eighty from the jerkburgers you usually bring home. They’re like lost puppy dogs. You can’t say no.”

  “Well, consider my tune changed. I’m done with guys like that. Eric pushed me over the edge.”

  “You and me both. I never understood why you couldn’t just pick a nice, safe guy.”

  Kiki picked at her nails. “I don’t know either. There’s just something about a guy who would stand up for you, protect you. It’s hard to resist a guy who doesn’t give a fuck, a guy who reacts, who takes what he wants. It’s like a drug.”

  “But you never recognized where to draw the line; that’s the hard part. Like Joey used to get in fights every time you went out. And Richard would hit on other girls when you went to buy him drinks. I don’t think he bought you a single one. Ever.”

  “Ugh, you make me sound like such an asshole.”

  Kat shook her head, her face softening. “You’re not an asshole. You just want to see the good in people where there is nothing but trouble.”