Evin's Fight (Southern Charmers Book 3)

by Ahren Sanders

  She shrugs unapologetically. “Kids aren’t my gig.”

  I shoot back the whiskey, ready to make my exit when she puts her hand on my arm. “Don’t get defensive. I’m in town for a few days if you change your mind about that drink.”

  “Woman, I have no interest in sharing space with you, much less a drink.”

  “My name is Nat—”

  “Natasha,” the pained voice spears through me, and I whip around to find Poppy. All the color is drained from her face and she’s staring at the woman with such hatred it fills the air.

  Natasha… Tasha.

  Realization slams into me, my glass goes down, and the next second Poppy’s shielded in my arms.

  “Poppy, let’s go.”

  Tasha’s evil and ugly cackle flows loudly, people turning to gape at us. “Poppy? Fuck me, always the ass kisser. They’re gone, Caitlyn. You think Grandma and Grandpa are coming back from the dead to praise you more for taking on their pet fucking name?”

  “Bitch, watch your fucking self.”

  Her eyes come back to mine, and my blood runs cold. She has no problem roving them up and down before licking her lips. “You’re scrumptious.”

  Poppy’s body convulses, and I growl, “We’re out of here.”

  “What? No family reunion?”

  “Why are you here?” Poppy’s voice is strained, yet strong. She grabs onto my arm, and Tasha’s gaze falls to her hand.

  “Jesus, you’re wearing the ring too? You must really think he’s special.”

  “He’s my fucking husband!” Poppy screeches.

  “Ugh, figured that out. And the flowers in the hair? The whole boho thing is cute, but men grow out of cute. Especially a man like this. You should have let me give you sisterly lessons.”

  At this, I’m done, barely holding on to my rage as I bend to haul her into my arms.

  “What the hell is going on?” A clipped male voice stops me, and I’m staring at none other than Isaac Blake. “Are you causing problems, Natasha?”

  “You remember Caitlyn, don’t you, babe?” Tasha answers him sweetly.

  His head swings to my arms, and his face transforms in a way that blisters inside. “Caitlyn?”

  “Oh, she goes by Poppy now,” Tasha goads. “Can you imagine?”

  “Poppy? From your grandparents? That’s beautiful.”

  Now the rage fuels into fury as I press her into me. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

  He shakes his head, finally looking at me, and when he does, his eyes go sharp. “Who are you?”

  “I’m her husband.”

  “Husband?”

  “Yes, my husband,” Poppy responds firmly.

  He levels his glare at Tasha. “Your sister doesn’t look sick to me.”

  “She wears flowers in her hair that’s four different colors and performs in a three-ring circus. I consider that sick,” she replies snidely, casting her eyes back to Poppy. “Gotta say, when I heard rumors you were working in Vegas, I assumed you were working a pole.”

  The smugness in her tone and malicious delight in her eyes confirms my suspicions. This is no coincidence, and she didn’t hear any rumors. This entire run-in is intentional. Natasha Bindel has an agenda.

  My vision goes red.

  “I’ve never been sick, Isaac.” Poppy’s voice gains strength along with her body. She holds on to me, but in a more defensive way.

  “You are all a bunch of fucking lying assholes,” he spews to Tasha. “Is that why you insisted on coming this weekend? Because you knew Caitlyn was here? I’m done with all of you after the game. No more pretending.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Isaac, until you fall into bed with me again.” Tasha keeps going. “Plus, your relationship with my parents is mutually beneficial.”

  “Bitch, I thought with my dick for about two months and cut your ass. Stupidest thing I ever did was lose Caitlyn for a cheap piece of pussy that had more miles than my vintage mustang. The only reason you assholes are in my life is because of the monumental guilt trip you laid on me.”

  I take in the scene.

  Tasha’s face flames with anger and jealousy.

  Isaac staring at Poppy like she’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

  Then I feel it.

  Redemption.

  The dipshit doesn’t deserve to breathe her air, but it feels good to know he figured out his mistake quickly and lives with it.

  “She’s mine,” I growl.

  His eyes fly to me, and he gets it. Pain, regret, and a dozen other emotions cross his face at the fact that I have the woman he still thinks about fondly.

  “You good, Cait—I mean Poppy?” he asks tenderly.

  She melts, holding on, and glances at me with peace in her eyes. She got it, too. Her family continued to fuck her, but the man that scarred her realized it and is filled with remorse.

  “I’m better than good. I’m never been happier.”

  “I’m sorry,” he presses with years of meaning behind his words.

  “We’re done,” I announce.

  “No, we’re not. Mom and Dad will be here for the game. We need to talk.” Tasha addresses Poppy, obviously thinking she has some sort of control.

  “Not a chance in hell. Karen and Marco can fuck themselves. I have a lawyer, and one call is all it’ll take. Imagine how Governor Bindel will look with a restraining order on his record.”

  This gets her attention, her expression sneering while Isaac barks out a laugh.

  “Consider this the end of our arrangement, too. I’m done.”

  “Fucking insults to society. I’m out of here. The idea of tapping virgin ass screws with every masculine mind. Never understood the appeal. Call me, Evin, if you decide you want to ride wild.” Tasha stands, staring at her sister with such disgust it scales at my skin.

  Poppy lunges, her hand flying fast and connecting with Tasha’s cheek.

  Tasha stumbles back, red wine splashing over her. “You useless bitch, this dress cost more than your peasant ass makes in a week.”

  Poppy does it again, getting in one more slap before I have her restrained.

  Isaac laughs louder as a small trickle of blood pools out of Tasha’s mouth.

  “We’re gone.” I guide Poppy to the side at the same time Tasha makes her move, kicking out her foot.

  I lose hold as Poppy goes down, catching herself with her arms.

  “I’m going to kill her.”

  “Let me handle this. Security hauling her out will make my year. A hit to her reputation is like a death stab,” Isaac grumbles and I nod, picking up my wife.

  Poppy lets me carry her until I find a small hall and get us alone.

  “Baby, you okay?”

  She stands, wincing a little but nodding. “I can’t believe I slapped her twice!”

  “Yeah, you bitch slapped and drew blood.”

  “You didn’t kill Isaac.”

  “Wanted to, but hard to kill a man when he’s mourning his shit decisions.”

  She giggles, head-planting into my chest.

  “You went down hard, how do you feel?”

  “Okay, my ankle and heel twisted, but I’ll stretch them out. I’m high on adrenaline right now.”

  “Nerves gone?”

  “I didn’t go to our room. I walked outside and got some air.”

  “Good.”

  “She was here for a reason. There are too many luxury hotels in this city for her to conveniently be staying here,” Poppy utters into my shirt, picking up on my suspicions.

  “I agree, but we’re not thinking about that.”

  She straightens, face and eyes filled with concern. “My estranged sister is in my town, staying in the same hotel, and hitting on my husband. She’s a bitch and highly unpredictable. Doesn’t that worry you?”

  “No,” I lie, hoping there’s conviction to my tone, “because right now, I’m taking you backstage where I know you’re safe. Then, for the rest of this weekend, you won’t be out of my sig
ht unless you are on that stage with Dante. As soon as the family leaves for the airport on Sunday, we’re checking out and going to your place. I’ll call and see if we can get into the apartment this week, too. Karen and Marco flying across the country this weekend to see a pre-season game makes little sense. But we’re not taking any chances of running into them.”

  “Always in control.”

  “Not always. My flawless bohemian beauty has the power to strip me of all logic.”

  The concern wanes from her features, and she gives me a thoughtful smile. I return the sentiment, even though my internal instincts are on alert. Natasha Bindel came here on a mission.

  And that fucking terrifies me.

  Chapter 22

  Poppy

  Dante stares at me, hands propped on hips and eyes scorching with fury. He’s in full makeup and costume, but it’s obvious he’s about to lose his mind. This is the first time we’ve seen each other since he returned from his trip. He came off the stage, overheard the tail-end of my conversation with Ryanne, then demanded the story.

  I gave him the condensed version, hoping it would satisfy him.

  Wrong.

  “Anything else?” Anger radiates from his body.

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “Yes, we will, because later, I can get blow-by-blow details. But now, tell me, anything you’ve left out?”

  “She hit on my husband and he didn’t take it well.”

  This gets me a small lip twitch.

  “In the brief period, she was rejected twice. Evin and Isaac had no problem laying her out.”

  Lip twitch again.

  “I slapped her, twice. One time spilling wine all over her.”

  This gets me a full-out smile.

  “Isaac said her,” I lean in, whispering, “cheap piece of pussy has more miles than his vintage mustang.”

  “Nice.”

  “She was savagely jealous of Evin.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  I punch his shoulder playfully. “Stop fantasizing over my husband.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Evin trusts me with you.”

  “He fucking better.”

  “Said if I’m not with him, I’m with you.”

  “Not an issue.”

  “I’m moving out of the Bellagio this Sunday and probably going to the apartment this week if Evin can make it happen.”

  “He’ll make it happen.”

  “Even though it’s a temporary place for when he’s here, I’ll need you and Ryanne to help me make it comfortable.”

  His eyes soften, and his posture relaxes. “We can do that.”

  I take this as a good sign that we can move on from the Tasha drama.

  “Ryanne’s coming to the second half of the show.”

  “I figured she wouldn’t stay away.”

  A whistle cuts through the air, signaling our pre-show ritual is beginning. Our cast stands in a circle, holding hands silently. The goal is simple. Focus, concentrate, and trust. For the next hour and a half, our lives are in each other’s hands, in some cases literally.

  Usually, this pre-show ritual takes me straight to the zone, but my head is scrambled. I close my eyes, searching for lucidity, and Evin’s face comes to mind. Slowly, the tension drains and a sense of Zen takes its place.

  Our circle breaks when the production assistant notifies us it’s time.

  “Let’s light it up.” Dante squeezes my hand,

  “Showtime.”

  For now, all thoughts are on the performance.

  My adrenaline spikes again, and when I hit the stage, my eyes immediately find Evin. He’s seated between Maya and Annie. Maya’s now wearing a crown of flowers and grasping the necklace I bought her with stars in her eyes.

  That’s the last thing I see before being swept off the ground.

  Friday night crowds are usually enthusiastic, but tonight is extraordinary. Even with the electric energy fueling the stage, something is off. My body goes through the motions, never missing a step, and those around me don’t seem to notice. Except Dante, who’s eyeing me wearily. I avoid glancing back into the audience for fear that Evin’s expression will be the same.

  By the time I hit my last break before the finale, my right ankle is aching.

  Fight it out, Poppy, you’re tougher than this.

  I twist, twirl, and flex my foot, working out the kinks. Luckily, my last set requires more strength than dance. Only a few high-impact moves and one leap.

  A leap I learned at eight and perfected by eleven. It’s my ace that never fails.

  The change in tempo is my cue, and I join my team, parading back on stage. The throbbing in my ankle increases, spreading around my heel and protesting every step.

  Broken bones, sprained muscles, torn tendons, I’ve experienced them all, but this is different.

  Just a few more minutes.

  I steal a glance at the third row. Evin’s not fooled. He’s leaning forward, eyes leveled on me.

  My gaze slides to the side, prepping for my finale. The instant my turn transitions into the leap, there’s a loud pop. I’m helpless to what happens next when I come down, unable to support my weight. My knee and foot go in opposite directions with another loud pop, followed by blistering pain.

  My performer instincts kick in, and I roll to the side dramatically, hoping it looks natural. I barely hear the soft gasps of my dancers over the roaring in my ears.

  The ground below me disappears, and I’m in the familiar arms of Dante. “I got you, Pips.”

  Agonizing fire shoots down my entire right leg, and I cry out. He gets me to the community room, sitting with me in his lap, and a team of people swarms around us. Tons of questions assault me at once.

  “Right calf, ankle, heel, knee—all of it. Two pops and then…” I’m unable to finish.

  Someone removes my headpiece, someone else my shoes, cutting my tights. Dante rips off my wig and cap, then forces my face to his. No words are exchanged as he removes my hairpins and bun, releasing my hair.

  “Dante—”

  “Shhh, Popsy, focus on me and let them check you out.”

  Tears roll down my cheeks watching them poke around. The room is quiet except for my whimpers. My body bucks violently when pressure is applied to my knee. I lock eyes with one of my athletic trainers.

  The man has spent twenty years as a physical therapist and trainer working with many athletes.

  He may not be an actual doctor, but his experience and knowledge are wide.

  He won’t assume a diagnosis but has a theory.

  One reason I chose Kinesiology as my minor was to understand ailments and injuries. Use the knowledge to my advantage.

  He doesn’t need to say anything because sympathy is written all over his face.

  A shrill, deafening scream tears up my throat as I collapse into Dante.

  Chapter 23

  Evin

  I race through the lobby and down the corridor roped off for employees only. It’s in me to beat the door down, but a man in a headset is walking out and I fly past him.

  A low, ear-piercing scream comes from somewhere in the vicinity. My heart stops and I take off in the sound's direction, trying to remember my way around from Poppy’s tour.

  My peripheral vision checks the passing rooms to find them empty. Finally, the area opens and she comes into view. A group of people surround her in Dante’s arms. The look on his face slashes through me.

  I take a split second to calm before wading into the crowd and kneeling beside the man assessing her leg.

  “Baby, look at me.”

  At my voice, she twists her head, and déjà vu slams into my chest. I’ve witnessed this look before in my life. The night I told Darby about Pierce’s baby.

  The same night her dream died.

  Fuck!

  “Give her to me.”

  “Sir, she needs to stay stationary until we can immobilize her leg,.” someone tells me, and I refra
in from punching him.

  At the term immobilize, her face crumbles, and she wails, lunging her upper body my way. I hold her tight, staring at Dante. His eyes swell and fuck if my own don’t burn.

  “I’m here, gorgeous.”

  She doesn’t speak, clinging to me.

  My head goes to her shoulder, and I close my eyes, willing myself to hold it together.

  The room fills and more weeps sound behind me. Poppy cries harder, her tears soaking into my shirt and skin.

  “Evin, they need to take her,” Dante says softly.

  Poppy jolts, and I turn my attention over my shoulder. EMTs are waiting with a stretcher. Ryanne comes flying in, and with one look, hits the floor beside me.

  “Pips, what happened?”

  Poppy remains silent, and I wonder if she’s in shock.

  “Right leg injury,” Dante answers, confirming my guess.

  “Sir?” the man beside me gets impatient.

  “Hold on, baby.” I get to my feet, lifting her as gently as possible, and place her on the stretcher.

  “We need her to stand to get an idea of what we’re looking at.”

  “Jesus, Cal, she dropped like weight and attempted to roll off the fucking stage. You think she can stand?” Dante spews. “Let her husband get her on the goddamned stretcher.”

  The man referred to as Cal isn’t fazed, turning his back to talk to the EMTs. “Get her to the ER and the Ortho on call will be waiting. I’ve already texted. Brace the entire right leg. We’re scanning from toes to hip.”

  One of them runs out while the other bends to eye-level. “Ma’am, do you have any allergies?”

  She shakes her head at the same time I answer no.

  He goes about taking her blood pressure while she remains motionless. The other guy comes back in, and I’m forced to watch as they jostle her to brace the leg.

  “We’re out.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Sir, we recommend you follow in your vehicle and bring her insurance information.”

  “Like fuck I will.”

  “I’ll go with her.” Ryanne lays her hand on my arm. “You get her purse; the insurance cards are in her wallet. Grab her a few personal things. She’ll need to get this makeup off and into something more comfortable.”