by Erica Breyer
“Andy…for heaven’s sake!” Nat had broken into the clearing and was standing with her hand on the man’s chest. He stared down at her, almost unseeing for a minute, and then logical thought took over. She’d slid an arm around his waist and was standing beside him, fingers stroking a soothing pattern down his arm. “Darling, it’s okay…” she was saying, but her eyes were on Tyson.
“You…you bastard!” Andy was aiming the words at him. Dammit. Those words hurt more than the fists. Tyson stayed silent. “What you did…that was messed up! And now you’re here with…with that?” He aimed a glance at the girl who’d been hanging onto Tyson but was now backing quickly out of the circle.
“Darling, let it go,” Nat stopped him. “It’s not your fight.”
“But it is!” he objected sharply. “What he did…was sick! She’s…she’s our people! And now he’s out, screwing around and partying, while Cass is—” He stopped abruptly as Nat put a hand on his arm and squeezed firmly. She turned to face Tyson, pulling Andy safely behind her. The guy wasn’t a threat. For a moment, it was hard to tell if she was confronting Tyson or shielding her man from him.
‘That is one damn fine woman,’ he thought enviously, still saying nothing. He looked around the circle of onlookers, jerking his head to disperse them. It didn’t take another request. The redhead had headed for the hills. The rest went too. Thank God.
“I guess we should talk,” Nat said quietly. Tyson hadn’t heard sweeter words in weeks.
“I need to see her, Nat.” She clenched her jaw…clearly deliberating. They were alone on the sand now, but he wouldn’t have cared if there were people around. What he had to say didn’t shame him. “She’s locked me out. How do I get through?” he asked.
Nat narrowed her eyes on him and hesitated. “She’s gone to London, Tyson. The company sent her on a two-month assignment.”
That made sense. It was as if she’d dropped off the planet. “How do I reach her?” he pressed. Nat was still reluctant.
“She doesn’t want to speak to you; she’s still hurting.” Her mouth set in a grim line. “What you did was unforgivable.” He ground his teeth, frustration swelling uncontrollably for the thousandth time since this whole shitstorm had unfolded. Why would nobody listen to him?
“It wasn’t me, dammit! I was trying to protect her…I was trying to—”
Nat cut him off. “It’s not my business…that’s something for you to discuss with Cassie. But…” she stopped again, then muttered under her breath, “Shit, I’m gonna regret this.” She turned back to Tyson. “Look, she’s going to have to speak to you at some point.” He damn well hoped so. “Tyson, she’s pregnant.” He felt himself sway for a moment, and it wasn’t from the fist to his jaw.
“What?” his voice was weighted with disbelief.
Pregnant? But how?
Of course he knew how. But really? They’d only had that one night.
One incredible night…
He shook his head. Stranger things had happened. It only took once. Nat stayed silent while he processed her words.
“Fuck,” he exhaled, rubbing his face with both hands. “I need to think.”
He turned and left the circle.
The couple watched his departure. “So, that went well,” said Andy, miraculously recovered from his earlier rage. Nat had a way of calming him. Although he had the same effect on her. The couple had discussed their friend for hours, trying to come up with a way to help.
Nat slid her arm around his waist and pulled him close. “It’s up to them now, love,” she said, smiling up at him and brushing a curl off his forehead. “But you were…you were so amazing.” Andy grinned. “So darn sexy,” she winked at him. “My manly man!”
“Yeah…I was pretty fabulous,” he replied, flexing slightly. “I totally had him there for a moment, could you tell?”
“Oh, absolutely, darling,” Nat giggled. “He was terrified.”
The pair chuckled as they held each other closer and headed back down the beach.
Chapter 20
Tyson sat up and groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. His mouth was dry, his stomach roiled, and there was a small angry person using a jackhammer in his skull. This wasn’t a sensation he was accustomed to.
He glanced around the room and frowned.
“What the—?”
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Maxwell’s voice joined the jackhammer, and Tyson winced. He was on the couch in Maxwell’s apartment. Black leather creaked beneath him as he shifted gingerly to sit up.
“Max…fuck…What—?” Flashes of the previous night’s events were coming back to him, but not clearly enough. His ribs ached, and his jaw felt tender. The fight…he’d gone down. Hard. “Fuck.” He rubbed his face again, noticed bloodied knuckles, bruised hands. ‘That can’t be right…’
There were scrapes along his forearms, and his knees were stinging. He looked down and saw grazed skin where his jeans were torn open. ‘That really can’t be right.’ The roiling in his stomach was turning into a tight knot.
Maxwell was standing in front of him with a steaming mug of black coffee. He reached for it gratefully and took a sip, biting back a gag. The roiling that had become a knot was now a tightly clenched fist. But the coffee had to go down. Clear his head. He struggled to grasp at the furry flashes of memory. The fight. The locker room afterward. Beers with the guys?
He’d never been much of a drinker. It threw him off form, messed with his schedule. The thought of a morning run right now inspired another gag. Maxwell’s dry chuckle didn’t help matters. A raised eyebrow lifted his dark features.
“Okay. What did I do?” Tyson finally asked. It wasn’t going to come back to him without help. He could only pray the damage wasn’t too serious. Maxwell must have read his thoughts.
“Nothing we can’t handle, Ty,” he finally began. Tyson didn’t want to have to find his way through cryptic clues. “The fight went down badly. You remember that much, I’m sure. You were in a mood. No big surprise there. You’ve been funky for a while…you know it. I saw things going off-track by the third beer.” Tyson grimaced. He really wasn’t much of a drinker. “But when the tequila came out, I knew we were in trouble.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Tyson rubbed his face again. Cassie was his kryptonite, but tequila was the flaming match to his short fuse. He could pretty much connect every moment of lunacy in his life to the stuff. “What did I do?” he asked again. Maxwell glanced at his torn knuckles, and Tyson groaned inwardly.
“Look, before you get too panicked, it was a righteous call,” Maxwell tried to reassure him. “Some dickwad in the bar was hitting on one of the waitresses. She wasn’t buying it, so he laid into her. Called her some names. Lesbo. Fat bitch. you know the drill.” Tyson had a feeling he knew what was coming. “Anyhow, you called him out, and he got all up in your face. Asked you what you planned to do about it. Next thing we know, he’s down on the ground, and you’re on top of him, breaking his face pretty good. Classic Killer move.” Maxwell chuckled.
It wasn’t funny.
Tyson groaned outwardly this time. That stuff was fine in the cage…but out in the street? Even if it was a righteous call, he was going to be the one facing the judge if things went pear-shaped. He just knew how to do too much damage. It was his job.
“I made it go away…although it’s gonna cost us,” said Max.
He rose unsteadily to his feet, swayed slightly. Max held a small plastic bottle out to him, and he took it. Paracetamol. He took three. It would knock him like a buffalo – his body wasn’t used to chemicals. Or alcohol, clearly. Despite the hype around his sport, he wasn’t one for unnatural assistance. Steroids, ephedrine, the chemical cocktails…he couldn’t tolerate them. He’d built his career on determination, pig-headedness, and sheer hard work. Work that was starting to unravel quickly.
As if reading his mind again, Maxwell put his hand on his shoulder, partially to steady him. “You gotta get your shit together, man.” He was
n’t only talking about last night. Tyson’s downward spiral had been no secret. Every interview had included a plea to Cassie to come back. In the beginning, it was quirky; fans had tweeted about it, commentators had used it as a fun little insert into their fight blurbs. Now it was becoming a joke. Especially since he’d started going down. Two for two since she’d left.
“I messed up,” he sighed, rubbing his face. The paracetamol hadn’t kicked in yet. Dammit.
“Yup,” said Maxwell. He wasn’t making any excuses for him. “And the sponsors are gettin’ antsy.”
“Screw the sponsors,” Tyson said. His heart wasn’t in the words.
“Ya know that ain't right, Ty,” Max said softly. “We got some good folks on board. They support you…all the way. It’s not just money to them. They’re buying into you.” Tyson nodded slowly. The man was right. Of course he was right. They’d spent years crafting the brand that was Tyson Killoran. In the beginning, he’d taken whatever he could get, but now, he could choose who he worked with. People who believed in his ideals. In his truth. Sure, he used fighting to get his message across. But there was more to it.
“You gonna blow it, Tyson. You gotta get your head straight.” Maxwell still had his hand on Tyson’s shoulder. His gaze was unwavering. “The boys…those boys look up to you. They believe in you. What you’re showing them right now… That ain't the message you want to be bringing, you know?”
He knew. Of course he knew. Violence had no place outside the cage. Moping around. Drinking. It was poor discipline. Lack of focus. He had to get focused.
“You gotta get this woman outta your head, Ty,” Maxwell continued. Tyson stared at him. Easier said than done.
“I can’t, Max,” his voice was gruff. “It’s not that easy.”
“Then what’s your plan, man?” Maxwell asked; he’d released Tyson’s shoulder and was heading to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. Probably a better option than the coffee that was raking nails down Tyson’s throat.
“I don’t know, Max. What do you think I should do?” Tyson said, slumping back down into the creaking leather couch. He reached for the bottle of water, looked up at his friend. Maxwell laughed.
“Oh, man! You askin’ me? You in worse trouble than you realize! If I were you, I’d just move my old self right along to the next one, brother,” he answered. His last girlfriend had tried to put a blade in him while he slept. The one before had flung a brick through his window. Maxwell had not had great luck with women. It was safer to focus on the gym and the crew in his care. Romantic advice? Nope.
“Brother, I’ll take what I can get right now,” Tyson said in spite of it. “I’ve tried everything I know how. She’s shut me down at every turn. I don’t know what else to do. She wants me to give up.” The thought was almost terrifying to him, especially after Nat’s revelation the night before.
“You? Ty Killer Killoran? Give up?” Maxwell injected almost comical disbelief into the words. “Ah, hell no, man, you won’t give up. That’s not in ya.” Then he pulled a face. “Though maybe…”
“She’s pregnant, Max,” Tyson said. The words almost shocked him again as he said them. “She’s having my baby.”
Maxwell’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, man… Oh, man, that’s different. That’s huge, Ty.” He shook his head. They both felt the weight…two unwanted boys who’d found each other and forged a world for themselves. But never forgotten the fathers who had left them. “You want this girl; you need this girl. You do what you gotta do. Make a plan. Move heaven and earth. Hell, you can buy heaven and earth!”
Tyson looked up at him sharply, an idea forming.
“Come on, brother!” Max continued. “You an animal, man. A winner! You got this!” His friend had slid into the regular pep-talk he’d give him in his corner, and the words struck a chord. Tyson raised his chin, pulled his shoulders back. He gave a curt nod of his head, got to his feet.
“You’re right, Max,” he clapped the other man on the back, then bent and reached for his trainers.
“That’s what I like to see, man,” Maxwell grinned, then frowned as Tyson headed for the door. “Now, where you goin’?”
“I need to run,” Tyson replied, and he jogged towards the stairs. “Clear my head.”
“Oh, buddy!” Max called after him. “You gonna puke!”
He was right. Tyson did. Luckily by then, he’d reached a clear stretch of shoreline, and there was no one around. Afterward, he stood, bent at the waist, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. The morning air burned in his lungs, and his body screamed its resistance, but Tyson could feel the toxins oozing out of his pores in his sweat. ‘Sweat it out, asshole,’ he told himself, ‘get it out of your system.’ The seed of an idea that Maxwell had planted was taking root. ‘Buy heaven and earth.’ He could do that. He would do that.
Turning back along the beach in the direction of Maxwell’s oceanfront apartment, he forced grudging legs back into a run.
✽✽✽
“Do you really need me to take this, Leo?” Cassie asked yet again as she gathered her report and smoothed the line of her jacket. The buttons were harder to close across her waist, although the fabric was loose around her arms and shoulders. The thought of a meeting didn’t fill her with joy. She’d tackled several major projects since she’d arrived but had managed to stay out of the personal interface side of things. Client liaison just drained too much of her energy.
“You’re more than capable, my dear,” Leo said, leaning back into his office chair. “Besides, you’ve been specifically requested for this project. Our new shareholders have a high-profile campaign running in the States. They want someone who knows the market to handle it here. You’re it.” Leo was a gentleman in every sense of the word, but his expression brooked no argument. For a moment, Cassie contemplated pulling the ‘pregnant’ card. If he’d been fatherly before she’d shared the news, he’d grown downright smothering since. Perhaps he’d give in… “My hands are tied, Cassie,” he added, as if her face had given her away. “This is above my pay grade. These instructions have come from on high.”
The rumors of the new buy-out had been circulating for several days, initially ruffling feathers until everyone realized there were no jobs on the line. Cassie’s curiosity had been piqued initially. She wondered why she hadn’t been kept in the loop, then shrugged it off. Junior directors didn’t have to be kept up to speed on every decision made by the Board. Besides, she had enough on her mind at this point. It had been a relief to learn that her maternity benefits were generous. She’d be able to take leave when the baby arrived and return to her duties without a hitch. She’d grown to love the firm’s corporate culture and was glad the new shareholders didn’t seem to have plans to change anything.
“Cassie?” Leo’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You may want to run along now, dear. I’ll order lunch while you’re occupied.” Her heart warmed. He’d been such a sweetheart for the past couple of weeks. She was glad for it. Since learning the news, she’d quickly addressed her erratic habits. Healthy eating and regular sleeping had been top of the list. But with his attention had come an awareness that she was essentially alone in this strange city. She couldn’t go through this without support, and there was only so much she could expect from her colleagues. She was going to have to go home.
“Thanks, Leo,” she said. “You’re a honey!” Cassie gave Leo’s arm a squeeze and left his office, holding her folders in front of her like a shield.
A stranger was seated in the reception area adjoining the main meeting rooms, and she nodded to him as she passed. Probably part of the American contingent, she guessed, as he nodded back and smiled. If he was planning to join the meeting, he made no move to accompany her, however, and she kept walking. Cassie inhaled a deep breath and set her shoulders before stepping into the boardroom. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
The London skyline dominated the window that stretched across one wall of the room. Cassie’s stride faltered as she took
in the figure standing staring out of the window, the tall, lean lines so achingly familiar. Her heart spasmed, and she stopped. He turned and faced her, green eyes meeting hers.
“Hello, Wallstreet,” said Tyson.
Chapter 21
Cassie gasped. It wasn’t possible. She’d left him behind. Him and all of the pain. Why was he doing this to her?
“What are you doing here, Tyson?” she snapped, glancing down at her wristwatch. “I have an important meeting I—” She cringed as she heard herself say the words. The meeting was with him. Of course it was. She was such an idiot. Her shoulders slumped.
“How are you, Cassie?” His voice was soft. His eyes traveled down the lines of her body, and she had to force herself not to flinch. “You’ve lost weight,” he said, two lines between his brows deepening. She shrugged. Was he here to check up on her freaking health routine? They were so far beyond the ‘gym instructor’ ruse it was a joke.