Swink

by Adriana Locke

  My fingers itch to hug him, to wrap around his middle and press my face against his chest. To stop the anger that’s flowing back to the surface before it spills over.

  “As soon as they find out, and they will, their perception of me and you, will be linked with Nate,” he gruffs. “They’ll assume I’m from a family of freeloaders and tell you to get the fuck away before I really damage you.”

  “That’s not true,” I sniffle. “Besides, I’ll do whatever and whoever I want.”

  For that, I get another half-smile. “That’s not true. You do whatever they tell you, whenever they tell you to do it. You don’t do jack shit without them telling you it’s okay.”

  “I do you, don’t I?” I fire back.

  He clenches his teeth once more. “Careful,” he warns. After a pointed glance, he takes a step back. “You stay in this little box they’ve put you in and go through the motions of your life. I think doing me is the first thing you’ve ever done that’s against status quo. You’ve hidden me to the point that you have to—”

  “I haven’t hidden you!” I interject. “And you haven’t wanted to meet them. You’ve been downright against it, so don’t even shove that all on me.”

  The burn is quick and hot as it uncurls from the base of my throat. The tears I blink back are scalding and he sees them. It forces him to look away.

  “Okay. That’s true.” When he speaks again, his voice is a touch softer. “You are so capable, Camilla. You’re ridiculously smart, stunningly beautiful, the sweetest heart. It drives me insane watching you jump through hoops they’ve set for you. You do the charity work you think you should do but don’t love—”

  “That’s not true! I love working with the Landry Holdings charities.”

  He lifts brow. “You love it? You jump out of bed in the morning raring to go? When is the last time you found something you loved to do? And I don’t mean shopping or skiing. I mean something for you. Like what fighting is for me—when I’m doing it, I feel like me. Nothing else feels that way.”

  I don’t respond.

  “Answer me, Cam.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Heaving a breath, he paces a circle, knotting his hands through his hair again. “The point is, you’re gonna have a mess on your hands.”

  “Well, I guess it’s my mess, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, it’s your mess. It’s just not contained to you.”

  A heaviness descends on me, and suddenly, I feel exhausted. My head hurts, my eyes are blurry, and my legs just want to collapse me into a chair.

  “Are you going to tell them about the money?” he asks.

  “It’s none of their business.”

  “While I agree with that probably more than you even do, that’s not going to keep them from finding out.”

  My hands go to my hips. “Aren’t you the one that tells me I need to start standing on my own two feet?”

  “Sweetheart,” he says with more saltiness than sweetness, “you’re the one that’s set the precedent that they can look in your accounts and monitor your every movement. If you think that’s going to miraculously not happen with this, you’re wrong.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to explain it.”

  “Nah, you’re right. Just let them think you handle money like a child and I’m some kind of low life that just wants you for your cash. If that’s the case, I can’t even blame them this time.”

  I grab a piece of paper towel and pat under my eyes. It comes back black, stained with the mascara I applied so carefully in case I saw Dominic again today. I just didn’t expect it to come off like this.

  “Cam . . .” His voice is lower now, the tenderness I’m used to most days buried not quite as deep as before.

  “Shut up.”

  “I won’t shut up.” He stalks around the island, his eyes set firmly on mine. “This is why I don’t want you at the bar. This is the reason I tell you to stay away from the gym.”

  “Because I might loan everyone money?” I crack, feeling my moxie dissipate as he reaches me.

  He almost smiles. “No, because you’re too . . . you’re too nice for your own good.” He touches my chin and tips my head back so I’m looking up at him. The anger in his eyes fades and in its place is a concern that makes me want to burrow my head in his chest. “Your family has fucked you over by sheltering you so much.”

  “They’ve given me a giver’s heart.”

  “What they’ve given you is a rose-colored version of the real world and have been there to scoop you up from every problem you’ve ever had,” he sighs. “You rest on your laurels. You absolutely could walk into a room and take care of yourself, but you don’t. And that drives me insane. You’ve let them make you weak, when all I see when I look at you is a damn strong woman.”

  A smile tickles my lips. As he takes it in, his posture softens.

  “You don’t bother to analyze things sometimes, because it’ll all be okay because it always is,” he says. “You know what? Sometimes it’s not.”

  “This will be.”

  “It will be,” he acknowledges. “But you have to start being the woman I know you are all the time, not just some of the time, Cam. You just see the good in everything and I’m afraid . . .”

  “What?” I whisper.

  “The world isn’t like the gated community you’ve lived in your whole life. My world specifically isn’t the one you’re used to. If something happened to you because of me . . .” He reaches for me. I’m in his arms before he even gets them extended.

  Nuzzling my face in his white t-shirt, I breathe in the smell of linen mixed with cedar—something so unique and so Dom.

  His hands run up and down my back, his cheek pressed against the top of my head. We stand in the kitchen, holding one another.

  “Are you still going to go with me tomorrow?” I ask, my voice crackling.

  “I have to now. If I don’t, they’ll think we took the money and ran.”

  “They will not.”

  He pulls away, his eyes now brimming with an anxiety that is contagious. “I’ll be honest with you. If this was anyone else, I’d call it quits right now. I’d be looking at this like it’s a fight between two different weight classes.”

  My hand trembles as I play with my earring, trying to hold on to the if this was anyone else part.

  “I gotta go. I’m working a shift at the bar tonight for Nate.”

  “I’ll call Ford and tell him we won’t meet for lunch tomorrow.”

  “No, you won’t,” he says, shaking his head. “We’re going.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if he’s going to judge me, I’d at least like him to have met me once. I don’t want my complete reputation with Ford to be based on two interactions with my brother.”

  Looking at me over his shoulder, he heads to the front door. With his hand over the knob, he gives me a sad smile. Sunlight pours in the room when he pulls the door open and steps onto the porch. “I’ll pick you up at eleven. See ya, Cam.”

  For moments longer than I should, I stand in the foyer and look at the closed door. I wait for him to come back in and kiss me goodbye. Then I hear the Camaro fire up in the driveway and my heart sinks.

  With tears flooding my cheeks, I hope beyond all hope he’s wrong. That this isn’t the start to the end of us.

  Camilla

  I OBSERVE MY WATCH MOVING another minute forward, making it seven after eleven. That’s seven minutes after the time Dom said he would be here today to pick me up. Dom’s never late, not without calling.

  For some reason, I didn’t call Sienna after he left yesterday. I sent Joy to voicemail and poured a glass of wine and sat on the sofa alone. Having someone around would only have made it worse, made Dominic’s absence that much more obvious.

  He sent one text really late saying goodnight. It was a quick, simple few words that at least let me know he was thinking about me. I returned many more words than he sent, but there was no follow-up. I waited for alm
ost an hour for a reply that never came.

  I curled up in one of his t-shirts with the phone to my chest like it brought me closer to him somehow and fell asleep with tearstains on my pillow.

  Just when I thought things were turning for us, moving to something more solid, this happens. Usually things like this are just a misunderstanding or something dumb that can be fixed. This is not. I can feel it. This is a harbinger of what we’ve both feared: that we’re too different to work.

  It’s a conversation we’ve had many times, a case-in-point that’s made over and over again. It’s why he hasn’t met my family. It’s the reason he doesn’t want me at the gym or bar. This is why we argue over who pays for dinner when we go out—when I know he’s tight on money and he refuses to let me pick up the bill—and why I don’t understand why he thinks fighting is an acceptable job. He also can’t fathom how my family is so entwined.

  We’re entirely different. It’s something we’ve always known. Maybe we both thought it would end before it mattered, but it didn’t. And now it does.

  A separate, equally intricate knot has twisted itself in my stomach that I can’t loosen. When I think of Dominic and our argument, I think of Nate. My stomach rolls every time I consider I may have put a wedge between them. If anyone knows the importance and preciousness of a sibling bond, it’s me. To think I might’ve chipped away at that makes me want to die.

  Now, eight minutes past eleven, I wonder if he didn’t stay up pondering the same questions, coming to the same realizations . . . leaving me sitting here this morning for nothing.

  A knock sounds against the door and my heart leaps with the doorbell. I’m halfway there before I have to go back to the sofa, swipe up my purse, and then almost jog down the foyer again.

  Taking a deep breath, I pause and try to remember the little positive mantra Mallory teaches at yoga. But after a few seconds of nothing, I can’t resist seeing him any longer and yank open the door.

  A crisp blue and white striped shirt covers his chest, a pair of khakis I didn’t know he owned span his long, lean legs. His hair is styled to the side like he only does when he takes me out to dinner. He pulls his sunglasses off and I see a little puffiness beneath his blue orbs reminiscent of mine.

  “Hey,” I say, forcing a swallow.

  “Hi.” His eyes drift easily down my yellow dress, pausing at my espadrille sandals, before roaming back up my body again. “You ready?”

  “Yeah. Let me lock up.”

  He waits patiently while I fiddle with the locks and I hold my breath as I turn around. Any other day, my hand would find his as we make our way down the sidewalk. Today, his palm finds the small of my back and guides me towards his Camaro instead.

  His hand is heavy against the thin fabric of my dress. I can smell his body wash, a clean, cedar scent lingering under the spice of his cologne. Breathing it in, I let it dawdle on my senses, giving me the comfort I’ve craved for hours.

  Without a word, he pops open the passenger door and watches me climb inside. He closes it softly before moving around the front of the car and slipping in the seat beside me.

  Our gazes meet somewhere over the console and a million things are said, but none of them involve words spoken.

  The engine roars to life, the tires semi-squealing as he moves us out into the street of my neighborhood, through the gates, and out onto the main road.

  “I didn’t think you were coming,” I admit as we wait at a stoplight. Turning to look at him, he’s watching me with a furrowed brow.

  “I told you I would.”

  “I know. I just thought . . .”

  “At least you’re thinking now. That’s a plus.” He shifts into first gear and charges the car forward. It zips through traffic and hits another red light. “I’m really trying to not be mad about this. I’m trying to be logical.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s not quite a smile. “I know your intentions were good.”

  “Dom, I didn’t mean to cause a problem with this. I—”

  I’m silenced by the bark of the tires and a lurching of the car as we propel forward. My heart thumping in my chest, my back is pressed into the leather as we speed down the next block to the next light.

  “Have you told Ford about the loan?” he asks, looking forward.

  “No.”

  He rolls his thick, muscled neck around his shoulders. “All right then.” He accelerates once more and we take a sharp right.

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  “Are you and Nate fighting?”

  His jaw tenses, but he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “No. I’ve decided you two are adults. I’ll let you handle your own business.”

  It can’t be that easy. My stomach drops. “Dom?”

  “What?”

  “You know what,” I sigh, “I’ve worried about this all night. Tell me you two aren’t into it because of me.”

  “Not because of you, sweetheart. Because he didn’t have the respect for either of us.

  I grab the door handle as he gasses it again, the car roaring beneath me, and then whips a quick left. “Ford is bringing Lincoln,” I tell him.

  “Great.”

  “I know Nate didn’t really hit it off with Lincoln, but he’s not a bad guy,” I insist. “He’s funny and loves sports and really is a big kid. I think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.”

  “I bet I’ll love him,” he says, the sarcasm unmistakable. “And two against one should be a blast.”

  I roll my eyes. “He’s just coming because they are going golfing afterwards right near the restaurant. This isn’t a big conspiracy or something.”

  “Tell you the truth,” he says, piloting the Camaro into the parking lot, “I’m fairly certain I could take the both of them. I’m not really worried.”

  “Hey, now,” I say, “my brothers are no joke! Ford is a legit badass and Lincoln was a professional baseball player.”

  “They golf, Cam.” He flips off the ignition and looks at me. A huge, shaky sigh of relief pushes past my lips as I see the hint of playfulness in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure golfing removes any badges of bad-assery they may have.”

  “Whatever you say,” I grin. “But don’t get Ford on the ground. I’ve seen him in action.”

  “I’m sure,” he teases.

  “Hey, just offering you a little insight. Take it or leave it.”

  When he doesn’t answer, I look at him. Studying his profile, I can’t believe how good-looking he is. Even though I’ve seen him a thousand times, it catches me off-guard.

  His skin is the perfect tan, the scruff on his cheeks makes my fingers itch to touch it. There’s a little bend in his nose. He says it’s from a right hand in a boxing match when he was a teenager. On anyone else, it would look like it needs fixed. On him, it’s sexy.

  He takes a breath, holds it, and looks at me. Sucking in a breath of my own, I give him a smile—a real one.

  “There we go,” he says, twisting his lips to hide a smile.

  “What?”

  “I’ve missed that smile.” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. “You look really pretty today. I don’t think I told you that.”

  “You didn’t. You were too busy being mad at me.”

  That does it. He grins at me, the sexy one that melts me from the inside out.

  “Are you still mad at me?”

  “Yes,” he says instantly, the smile dropping from his cheeks. “I don’t like you risking yourself. Not for Nate, not for Ryder, not for anyone. And I’m pretty pissed off no one thought I should know about this.”

  “Okay, you’re mad. What does that mean?” I ask, the shakiness in my voice back.

  “I don’t know,” he says sadly. “Let’s get through this lunch before we try to hash that out.”

  He hops out of the car and opens my door before I can get my buckle off. Swinging it open and
offering me a hand, he pulls me to my feet. We stand only inches away, both fighting our natural inclination to kiss or hug or make contact of some kind.

  “You look really nice today,” I tell him. “If you weren’t mad at me, I might’ve said you looked super sexy in khakis, but you are mad and I don’t want to go thinking those kind of thoughts about you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it might be a lonely night tonight.”

  We turn towards the door, him a step behind me. “You were right about one thing, Cam.”

  “What’s that?”

  He steps around me and opens the door to Hillary’s House, his brows tugged together. “It may be a lonely night.”

  Dominic

  I’VE DRIVEN BY THIS PLACE a hundred times in my life but never stopped. As soon as I step foot in Hillary’s House, it’s everything I thought it would be—an uppity place that tries so hard not to be. It’s like when we go to a fast food place and get the triple burger with bacon and curly fries instead of the burger that costs a buck off the discount menu . . . only in reverse. It’s our way of feeling fancy. This is their way of feeling like an everyday man. Someone just needs to clue them in that the everyday man doesn’t walk around in loafers or pearls.

  A stillness settles over me, causing my palms that were a little sweaty to dry, as I spot what has to be her brothers at a table in the back. This happens before I walk into the ring. It’s a silence that trickles from the top of my head, through my chest, over my gut, and down to my feet. It washes through my veins and allows me to focus on the task, or men, at hand.

  Some fighters get amped up, go nuts, before the bell rings. Not me. It’s a waste of energy. I need all of mine on the job to be done. Especially today.

  Cam gives me a reassuring look as we make our way through the restaurant. There’s a sparkle in her eye, one I see often when she talks about her family. It’s fascinating. The idea of having a family as close-knit as the Landry’s is completely alien to me. She has friends, like Joy, but the stories she shares are always of her sister or one of her brothers or one of their wives.