Swink

by Adriana Locke

  “Because I think you love her. Because I think you’ll get kicked out of your precious little club and I think that would be amusing. Does it matter? The fact is, if you want to mess with someone I care about, all’s fair.”

  “Is there a problem here?”

  I whirl around to see my father standing behind me.

  “Everything is fine, Daddy.”

  “Mr. Landry,” Barron gushes, ignoring me, “how are you? It’s so nice to see you this evening.” He extends a hand which my father takes. “How’s business?”

  “My business is fine, thank you for asking.” He gives Barron a nasty look and ushers me away. “What did that little son of a bitch say to you?”

  “Nothing.”

  He chuckles as we stop walking. I look up into his face, a mixture of my brothers. His hair has some grey to it now and the lines in his face are deeper and heavier.

  “You are just like your mother.”

  “How do you figure?” I grin.

  He doesn’t answer, just laughs. “Speaking of which, here comes the devil.”

  Our mother arrives and my father kisses her on the cheek. He whispers something in her ear and takes off across the room toward Graham.

  “This turned out excellent, don’t you think?” she asks, surveying the room.

  “Yeah. Absolutely.”

  “What’s wrong, dear?”

  “It’s been a long week,” I admit. “And then I just had Barron Monroe come up to me and . . . let’s say I said everything I wanted to say with a smile.”

  “As long as you maintained the smile,” she winks. “How are things with you? You know your siblings talk . . .”

  “Too much,” I sigh. “I guess you know about Dominic.”

  “I’d love to meet him.”

  I look at her and force a swallow. “I know Paulina and Raquel saw us at lunch the other day, and according to Graham, didn’t say very nice things about him.”

  She considers her words, looking anywhere but at me while she does it. Finally, after I’m about ready to burst into tears, she focuses on me. “We live in a very idyllic world, Camilla Jane. We are blessed that we can avoid a lot of common struggles in life. Now, I could go on and on about why that’s true, about how hard our families have worked and planned and saved, but I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “No, it’s not. I get it,” I say, thinking back to all the ways those things were reiterated to us growing up.

  “It’s very easy,” Mom continues, “to forget what it’s like for other people. When we are sitting in a beautiful home, wearing expensive clothes, eating whatever we’d like, it’s easy to look at those struggling in different ways—because we all struggle, Camilla, and pass judgement.”

  “I think your friends pass judgement incredibly easy.”

  “That they do,” she sighs. “They’re spared in a lot of ways by the exclusivity of our world. If Paulina or Raquel had to wear their sins and mistakes on their clothes, sort of like the way Dominic may display some of the things in his life unwittingly, let’s just say they’d be a lot less judge-y.”

  My bottom lip trembles and I let her pull me into a tight embrace.

  “I told both of them that. I explained that if you were happy and healthy and he treated you right, I couldn’t care less about anything else. We then had a quiet conversation about how I’m more concerned about you not sporting black eyes than I am about you wearing diamonds.” She pulls away and wipes away a fallen tear from my cheek. “Don’t spend a minute worrying about them, Camilla. They were probably jealous, if I can read between the lines.”

  Giggling, I dab beneath my eyes and breathe a little easier than I have for a while.

  “Can I meet him?” she asks.

  “That’s probably not going to happen too soon. He and Graham aren’t really seeing eye-to-eye, although I think they’ve called a truce.”

  She places her hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye. “I raised your brothers to be the men they are. I’m proud of them. Immensely. But sometimes they can get a little . . .”

  “Overbearing?”

  “Yes. Probably so.” She takes her hand away and plays with her pearls. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve told each of your siblings when they’ve come to me for advice. As long as you’re happy, we’ll adapt. And if you are happy, if you can’t imagine them never lighting up your phone again, you need to hold on to that. It’s precious.”

  “It’s not that easy with him,” I voice. “He doesn’t feel comfortable in places like this. So much of what I do, he doesn’t want a part of. And he doesn’t want me to be a part of his either.”

  “Sounds like your father,” she laughs.

  “Daddy? How?”

  “When we started dating, the man wouldn’t let me near a campaign meeting,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “He said it was no place for a woman like me. Even though I came from that kind of world, as you know, my father being as much of a business man and statesman as his, he tried to shelter me from the ins-and-outs that he saw that maybe I didn’t. It caused some conflict.”

  “How did you fix it?”

  Her smile lights up the room. “Well, first of all, I tried to remember that it came from a good place. Would I have wanted him to show no regard for my safety? No. Of course not. Then I showed him how strong I was. I learned about campaigns, I brought tea and water into the strategy rooms and didn’t flinch. I showed him if this was what he was going to do, which I knew when I started dating him, that I was going to do it too. At least in a support role. Because that’s what makes a relationship, Camilla. The support. The shoulder. The ear that listens. That’s where the love and respect and true collaboration lie. Not in anything else.”

  I glance at the clock on the wall. “Mom, would it be terrible if I left early tonight?”

  “Typically, yes. You know I think we should be the last to leave.”

  My heart sinks.

  “But,” she whispers, “I heard you had a sore throat and just couldn’t take it anymore.”

  I kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Get out of here before your daddy sees you.”

  Camilla

  HE’S NOT ANSWERING HIS PHONE, so that means he’s at the gym. It’s the only time he doesn’t answer me or at least quick-text me back.

  Still in my yellow dress and heels, I navigate my car onto the dimly-lit road that leads to Percy’s. There are people on the street corners, looking at me like they’ll stick a gun in my window if I slow down too much. So I don’t. Actually, I get a little heavy on the accelerator.

  A calendar flips through my head and I realize Dom fights in a couple of days. He’s stopped talking about it, other than to infer he’s generically training. There are no reports of the date or his opponent or what tactics he’s going to use or how much he hates Bond. He’s just slowed down from any casual mention at all.

  If he’s going to fight, I’m going to be there with my pom-poms in the air. Maybe I can get Ford to teach me a thing or two before then. Just the basics, like Mom said.

  I pull to the curb and cut the lights and ignition and scan the parking lot for any creepers. It’s not well-lit but it’s better than the roads. There are lights on inside and my car is parked next to his. There’s one other small compact car by the door.

  Hopping out and dashing to the front as best I can in heels, praying it’s unlocked, I pull it open.

  There are no chimes like at a regular business to alert the workers someone has walked in. Some of the lights that hang from the ceiling are on and some off, making the room a bit moody.

  Glancing around, I don’t see signs of anyone. I don’t hear anything either. I’m about ready to call out his name when I see a shadow in the ring in the back.

  With a wide smile, I dart in that direction but slow when it’s not Dom’s voice I hear. Instead, I hear one I vaguely remember.

  “Does that feel better?” It’s a woman’s voice that’s cooing thr
ough the room. It’s her voice, Red’s, the one from The Gold Room the day I walked into Nate’s office and saw her sitting with Dominic.

  My blood turns to ice. Suddenly, I can hear everything, see everything, almost taste the feeling in the room.

  Her giggle cuts through me like a chainsaw. “Hold still and I’ll put some of this on it.”

  “There’s no way to get it on where it hurts with the bandage.”

  “Should I take it back off? Man, I’m bad at this nursing thing.”

  “Yes, you are,” he laughs.

  The warmth of his chuckle, the easiness of it ringing through the air, pelts me. I almost gasp.

  “Bond gets you with that hook every time,” she says. “Have you thought about throwing a left hook on the inside when he throws wide?”

  “Yeah, I have. I’m impressed, Hannah.”

  “Well, don’t be,” she flirts. “I heard Percy telling someone a few days ago. I just borrowed the lingo.”

  “Well, he told me that too. Apparently I should remember it more often.”

  She giggles again and I want to puke.

  My stomach sinks that she knows this part of him, that he’s impressed by her knowledge of whatever it is they’re talking about. Fighting. Punching. Things that are foreign and beyond me.

  Then she giggles a third time and I realize I may have more of a fighter in me than I expect. I want to place a punch right in the middle of her face. My hands clenched at my sides, my nails pressing into my palms, I step farther in the room so I can see them.

  She’s sitting in the middle of the ring next to him. A bandage is wrapped around his chest, and by the way it’s fastened, I can tell he didn’t put it on. Someone else did. She did.

  I take a deep breath and know I’m probably not going to handle this with a smile.

  “Hey, Dom,” I say as sweetly as I can manage.

  I’ve never seen someone’s head whip around so quickly. His eyes are wide as he struggles to his feet, grimacing in pain. I don’t look at Red, but she’s looking at me. Her smirk smacks the side of my face, her taunt, also inaudible, is there. I feel it.

  “What are you doing here?” Dom asks, babying his side.

  “I left the event early. Maybe, again, I should’ve called.”

  My teeth grind against each other, my hands trembling at the fury of imagining her hands on my man.

  “You know what? I’m sorry,” I say, “I did call. That’s how I knew you were here. You didn’t answer.”

  “He was training,” Red interjects, looking at me like I’m an annoyance.

  “You—” I start, but Dom cuts me off.

  “Hannah, thanks for your help tonight.”

  “Anything for you.” Her eyes are on mine as she places her hand on his shoulder and lets it fall down his arm. “Need anything else, Dom?”

  “You have about three seconds to get away from him,” I seethe.

  “And what are you going to do about it?”

  “She’s not going to do anything about it. Just go, Hannah. Okay?”

  She stands in front of him, her hands on her hips. “I still have this cream . . .”

  “I swear to God . . .” My body quakes as I look at Dominic.

  “You,” she says as she climbs out the ring a safe distance away from me, “need to leave him alone. He’s injured and has a fight in a couple of days. Don’t be fucking his head all up.”

  “Hannah, enough,” Dom orders, his voice gravelly.

  “You need to leave him alone,” I glare.

  “Why? Because you’re his little goody-two-shoe girlfriend and you said so? Let me give you a little piece of advice. If you gave a fuck, you’d have been here timing his rounds and wrapping his hands and not off posing for pictures like the mindless idiot you are.”

  “Excuse me?” I start around the ring but am stopped when Dom’s voice booms through the room.

  “Hannah. Enough,” he growls. “You wanna play a little game, that’s fine. Cam is smart enough to see it for what it is. But if you’re going to tread into disrespecting her, calling her names, that’s a level you don’t want to get to. Trust me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Put a show on now for the girlfriend. Fine. See you later.”

  I stand on one side of the ropes, Dom on the other, while Hannah whistles and rummages around up front taking her sweet time. A couple of long minutes later, the door slams. And we’re alone.

  Just having her gone dissolves some of the fire, but in its place, is a singe of hurt.

  Maybe some of what she said is true. Maybe he thinks that too.

  “What are you doing here, Cam?”

  “I’d ask you the same thing but I’m not sure I want the answer.”

  He blows out a breath like the fate of the entire world lies in it. “You know I don’t want you here. Not at night and not alone.”

  I don’t respond.

  “Oh, stop it,” he sighs.

  “Stop it? Really? You’re going to say that to me when I walk in here and see that? Her touching you and cooing like a baby? It’s . . .” I force a smile. “It’s beyond frustrating.”

  “I needed help with the bandage,” he sighs. “She was the only person here.”

  “Conveniently.”

  “Whatever, Cam. I’m banged up here. Forgive me for taking care of myself. Isn’t it you that’s always preaching that?”

  “Yes,” I gulp.

  My insecurities flare and I know it’s an ugly reaction. It’s one I’m not used to, poise and confidence coming fairly easy to me. But now neither are really present.

  “Let’s say you walked in to Mallory’s yoga studio one night,” I say, my voice starting to shake, “and I’m there, alone, with Barron Monroe.”

  “Who the fuck is he?”

  “Just a guy I’ve known my whole life,” I shrug.

  His jaw pulses as he envisions this situation.

  “Let’s say Barron is helping me with a pulled muscle. It’s just some muscle rub on the back of my thigh—where I can’t reach. No big deal.” I let that sink in. “How’s that working for you?”

  “I’d break every bone in his fucking body,” he seethes.

  “Oh, but Dom,” I say innocently. “I couldn’t reach.”

  His eyes narrow as his chest rises and falls.

  “That is the equivalent of what I just walked into only I didn’t throw in how I didn’t want you there—right or wrong,” I add as he starts to object. “It’s about how it makes me feel, Dominic.”

  His head drops forward. “I just feel sorry for Hannah. She’s not a lot different than me, really.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “But you don’t know her. Not that I think you could be friends because I don’t,” he grins. “But I can’t just be hateful to her, Cam. I don’t have it in me. But that doesn’t mean I want her or think of her in any way other than a girl that really has nothing to go on.”

  His face falls, his jaw loosening up, and he sits back down on the mat. “I saw you on television. I thought you looked beautiful. But I see you now and realize . . . you’re even prettier in person.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “I’m not. Well, maybe I am,” he mutters. “Nothing happened with Hannah, Cam. Nothing will ever, ever happen with her. She legit helped me fasten this thing around my waist because I might’ve cracked a rib tonight. I don’t know. It just hurts.”

  “You can’t fight with a cracked rib.”

  “I’ve fought with cracked ribs before.”

  “If it splits and punctures one of your organs, you could die.”

  He almost smiles. “I could. But I won’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  His arms are draped over his bent legs, his black mesh shorts riding up on his thighs. He looks so long and lean and sweaty and sexy, and I wish I could pretend I didn’t see Hannah touching him. I wish I could erase it from my mind.

  “How did the event go?” he asks quietly.
>
  “Fine. Raised a lot of money. Goal achieved.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Then why don’t I feel better about it?”

  “Get up here,” he grins, patting the mat next to him.

  A part of me screams to stay the course, be mad, keep the distance, but for my good and his, I need to touch him. To make sure he’s okay.

  My heels are off and I’m slipping under the ropes before I can heed the devil on my shoulder’s warning. Sitting next to him, I lay my head on his shoulder. “I’m still very, very angry,” I warn. He pulls me closer and I take a deep breath. “I have something to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter one way or the other, really, but I’d want you to tell me.”

  “Cam . . .”

  “Barron Monroe asked me to Paris tonight.”

  “Paris as in France?”

  “Yes.”

  “Some asshole asked you to Paris?”

  “Yes.”

  He shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “I’ll kill him.”

  Shrugging, I blow out a breath. “You could’ve been there. Bet he wouldn’t have asked me then.”

  “I definitely don’t think those are my people. I think they’re the kind of people that get my kind of people sent to prison.”

  “Well, I think that about your kind of people.”

  “What?”

  “I have a thing against trashy gym whores that put their hands on my man, okay?”

  “It wasn’t like that, Cam.”

  “It was enough like that that I want to break her in half.”

  He bursts out laughing, pulling my head into his chest. It’s damp with sweat and probably ruining my make-up, but I don’t care. As a matter of fact, I cuddle as close to him as I can and breathe him in, touching his back lightly until he jumps from pain.

  “I’m not kidding,” I say. “I have moves now, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember,” he chuckles. “You better work on that before you go throwing punches.”

  “I hate her.”

  He looks me over. “She’s not bad. She’s just . . . different.”

  “She’s a whore.”

  “Maybe she is. She’s been fucking Nate off and on, so you could ask him his opinion. I don’t know. You know why? Because I don’t care.” He stands and offers me a hand. When I place one in his, he pulls me to my feet. “The only girl I care about is standing in a beautiful yellow dress right in front of me. And despite the fact that I am semi-annoyed that she can’t listen to save her soul and showed up here at ten at night alone, she’s all that matters to me.”