by TC Matson
I swallow. “I-um…”
He pulls me to him and kisses my forehead. “Not now. We have too many places we need to go first.”
Chapter 17
It’s been two weeks since Carter signed on with me. It’s been two weeks of constant reminders of what I went through to get where I’m at now. Carter has pushed the hell out of himself. He’s taking this very seriously, and it pleases the fuck out of me. The kid is dedicated. Not to mention, a quick learner.
We’re in the ring sparring. Today is more intense. Not the light weight shit we’ve been playing with. My swings are harder, more technical. I’m gauging him.
Swiftly, I throw a left hook and he blocks it with his hands upside his head. He stumbles a bit, regains his footing, and comes in with a right. Of course, I move, ducking away, and slap his thigh with a kick.
His eyes are enraged and he advances forward, firing off anticipated punches trying to back me away. I rush him, wrapping him up and putting him on his back.
“Keep your emotions in check,” I caution. “You cannot fight with them. They obscure your senses.”
He grunts, rolling over to his side out of breath.
“If you’re getting frustrated, reevaluate yourself and improvise. Formulate a new plan. No plan is the same as it was before your entrance. It’s good. It shows experience. Work through it quickly and change it. Now get up,” I bark my order. “Try again.”
He’s gulping for air as he does, but doesn’t say a word, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Left, right, he’s becoming methodical.
“Find your groove, dude. Recover and get the fuck over it,” I grumble.
He’s breathing frantically from his nose as he tucks his chin and progresses forward, tossing punches. They mean more this time. I’m ducking from them, swaying to move away. He jabs with his left and as I move, I’m rocked with a nasty right hook.
It twists my head.
Immediately, he stops, dropping his hands to his side with large eyes. “Fuck. I’m-I’m sorry.” He rushes to the side and pukes into his bucket.
I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt. “Dude!” I cackle. “You can’t be puking because you punched someone in the face.”
He wipes his mouth. “I’m exhausted, asshole.”
I nod my head. “Good hit. Is this our first?”
His eyes narrow and he spits in his bucket. “Yeah. Did you let me?”
I tilt my head, pursing my lips. “I didn’t see it coming.”
Half-truth.
He grins victoriously. “It’s about fucking time.”
“Don’t get excited over one mishap,” I jest.
“I will.” He squares himself up. “I will and I’m going to do my winning fucking dance because I want to celebrate it.”
He rises and falls, doing his little celebratory dance, smiling like a little shit. Truth be told, I’m grinning too. He looks like an idiot.
“If you dance like that in the clubs, it’s no wonder you’re single,” I joke.
Spinning around, he shakes his ass at me. “Kiss it, fucker.”
I kick him in his ass and he stumbles forward, gripping the side. This makes me laugh harder. Throwing up my hands, I rotate away to go take a seat, but dumbass decides he wants to try to catch me off guard.
He springs across the floor, laces his arms around me, and yanks. I brace myself to stand still and then, like my brother used to do, push him away by his forehead. He grunts, but shifts his feet, twisting out from my hand and grabs my waist again.
He wants to tease the big dogs. It’s only a matter of time, and they’ll find their way out of the fence. I drop, taking his legs out from under him and pinning him to the ground.
I’m smirking above him. “Why’d you put your head down? See what happens when you take your eyes off the target.”
“We still sparring?” he asks mischievously.
My brow jumps and I nod.
Coming from underneath me, he jams his knuckles into my chin. My blood boils immediately. Snatching his arm, I wrap my leg around it, fall to the mat on my back, and yank. He’s barking out in pain, slapping everything around him in hopes I let go.
I do.
“Fuuuuuck!” he draws out the word, pissed at himself.
I’m chuckling as I rise to my feet. “You’re getting good, shithead.”
“I’m going to knock you the fuck out one day,” he says.
I hold out my hand to help him up. “I like your dreams. Keep your eyes on the prize.”
He glances over to the clock. “Shit. I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to meet my mom. It’s her birthday.”
I let him go. He’s been working hard and…well, it’s his mother.
Chapter 18
Ryker has been gone most days until late in the evening. I’m surprised he isn’t as exhausted as I figured he’d be. But this seems to be a walk in the park for him. Sometimes, just to catch a glimpse of him, I’ll go to the gym and run on the treadmill. Other days, I run the neighborhood.
I knew what the outcome would be if he decided to do this. Although I say I support him, it doesn’t mean I like it. I keep focusing on the end result. When all this is over, he’ll win his fight, be a professional fighter, and be back on track with his dreams…the ones I screwed up.
Most days he’s crabby. Today he’s unhappy, miserable, and downright unbearable. He’s trying to keep his temper in check for me, but there are storm clouds in his eyes.
I’m weathering the storm until it passes…all of it.
He steps out of the bathroom with his hair up, the bright red stripe more vibrant wet. He’s wearing dark-washed jeans, a navy-blue t-shirt, and what I call skateboarding shoes. He argues that they’re “chill” shoes. Whatever. But this is his dress up.
His parents’ anniversary is today, which means he’s absolutely dreading the run-in with Kyce. He hasn’t seen or heard from his brother in three months. He’s even pulled away from Jackson because Jackson tries to talk him into burying the hatchet. Unbeknownst to Ryker, I’ve seen Kyce many times. He visits the office, and if he doesn’t come to see me, he calls once a week. He misses Ryker and feels horrible for letting him down.
It breaks my heart.
I drag my fingers down his chest. “You’re sexy,” I say in an attempt to get a smile out of him.
And it works. The first smile of the day.
His eyes rake over my body. “You should see you.” He kisses my cheek and then places his mouth beside my ear. “You’re going to burn up in that sweater.”
“It’s winter, Ryker. I’m going to freeze,” I snicker.
He winks. “When you get cold, tell me. I’ll warm you up.”
His parents’ house is a beautiful European cottage-style house with a veranda front deck wrapping around the corner. Half of it is light gray stone and the other half is gray bricks. It’s fantastically stunning. I hear him exhale as we step out of the truck, but I don’t say anything. He has to figure a way to handle this on his own because I disagree with his argument.
He pushes open the door and gestures for me to enter first. Immediately, I’m spotted, and Gracie springs from her spot, bombarding Ryker with her little arms.
“Unk Ry, check out my new shoes!” She’s beaming, twisting her ankle to showcase the gray Chucks with hot pink outlines.
He rumples the top of her hair. “Find any matching ones for me? Those are hot.”
Her giggle is the sweetest. “You’d look funny in pink anything.”
“I’d wear them for you,” he says and her eyes brighten.
We encounter Sarah and Jackson first and greet them. Sarah hugs us, but Jackson only hugs me and then gives Ryker a bro-hug.
“Is that Ryker?” his mom says sauntering out of the kitchen. She’s wearing an apron on top of a black blouse and smiles widely. She hugs me and then takes Ryker in her arms, kissing his cheek.
“Everyone’s in the living room. Dinner will be ready soon,” she says.
Audrey smiles up to her son and pats his chest. “I don’t get to cook for the family often. It’s been a long time, Ryker. It’s what I wanted. So of course, it’s what I get.” She smiles before scurrying back into the kitchen.
The energy shifts—tense, thick, and angry—as we step into the living room. Harold moves Gracie from his lap and stands.
He greets me and kisses my cheek. “You look really good,” he says before addressing Ryker. “Good to see you, son.” He pats Ryker’s shoulder.
But all eyes are switching between Ryker and Kyce.
Kyce watches him, dubiously.
Ryker glances to him—cold and unfriendly—before dismissing him all together. No words. No emotions.
“I’m going to see if Mom needs any help,” he tells his dad and exits the room.
I flash Kyce an apologetic smile and then follow Ryker into the kitchen.
“What can I help with?” Ryker claps his hands, beaming at his mom standing at the oven.
She laughs, dropping her head back before twisting to him. “Son, we all know you’re not the best cook.”
“I beg to differ. I’ve cooked Whitney a few good meals. Haven’t I?” He pivots toward me.
Everyone says he can’t cook and teases him profusely about it. But other than burning some eggs once, his cooking has always been good. And those eggs…well, they’re a bit my fault, but we won’t tell his mother that.
“We didn’t have to call the fire department,” I titter.
“Hey!” Ryker chuckles out. “It was good.”
I look back to Audrey. “No arguments there. His cooking has been delicious.”
“In that case, grab the plates and set the table,” she tells him.
“That was Kyce’s job,” he groans to the ceiling in displeasure.
She looks around the kitchen. “Does it look like he’s in here for me to ask? Besides, didn’t you ask what you could help with?” She shoos him with her towel.
I help him set the table while he jokes and picks about how he used to intentionally do it wrong to irritate his mom so she’d make someone else do it. Even though it was the easiest job out of them all, he loathed it because she was so nit-picky about it. He knew it would fall into Kyce’s hands too, so he was focused on ribbing his brother.
The table has been extended to fit all of us. I step back and take it in—three vases full of fresh flowers spaced out on top of a white runner. I can only imagine how small the table felt when all three of the Hayes men sat around it as teenagers. Even with two extra leaves, it seems too small for tonight.
We help Audrey bring out the large bowl of salad, the huge pot of spaghetti, and the bread. She says she learned early in life instead of trying to please them all, make a meal they all love. It’s smart and made from scratch…
The air tenses surrounding us as everyone piles into the dining room.
Thankfully, Gracie speaks up and takes the seat on the other side of Ryker. Just like when they were younger, it was meant for Kyce. Except he sits beside Jackson who is directly across from Ryker. Both parents sit at each head of the table. Sarah is across from me.
It feels so awkward. Even the small talk is weird as Jackson talks about the casino, and Harold speaks about golfing. There’s an elephant in the room, a big fat, neon yellow elephant and it’s sucking the air out.
Harold is saying something about the “boys” needing to come golfing with him when Audrey sighs, looking to Ryker. “You two need to hash things out.”
Everyone’s eyes begin to move. Kyce looks up to Ryker as Ryker peers to his mom. My breath is in my throat as I glance up to Sarah. She keeps her eyes to her plate.
“I’m fine,” Ryker states, dismissively.
Audrey shakes her head. “You’re always fine. But you’ll be better when you’re all getting along.”
“I said I’m fine,” he grits as politely as he can.
“Your brother can only apologize so many times. Forgiveness comes from the heart, Ryker. One I know you have. Forgiveness will bring you peace to your soul and happiness in your life instead of that anger eating away at you.” She speaks with warmth and tenderness.
“Mom, I’m fine.” His tone is sharp, which causes his dad to clear his throat in correction.
Audrey, the soft spoken, tender mother, slams her fork down, cutting angry eyes at Ryker. “I didn’t raise you to hold grudges. You’re brothers. Family. We stick together through thick and thin. It’s time to reconcile and work through it. I’m not asking for you to deny what happened. I’m asking for my boys to get along.”
My heart is thumping. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance to Kyce. He’s emotionless.
“You also raised me to be honest. I’m not gonna muster up a counterfeit forgiveness to appease anyone. That comes on my terms.” Ryker’s tone strains to stay stable. “Please, drop it.”
“No,” she states sternly. “I will not.”
Ryker exhales heavily through his nose. “You’re going to have to, Mom. I’ll defy you the entire step of the way. Either learn to deal with this or ignore it. In this instance, there isn’t forgiveness.”
I want to slink under the table. My pulse is beating so rapidly it’s making it hard to breathe.
“Watch your tone, Ryker,” Harold gruffs, pinning him down with a chastising stare.
I’m shaking when I take a sip from my drink and then blink to Audrey. “I’m sorry. I feel like this is all my fault.” I frown.
I, unintentionally, detonate one hell of a bomb.
Ryker slams his fist down and raises to his feet, sliding the chair back with his legs. He glowers at Kyce. “She thinks it’s her fault. That her attack is her blame.”
“Ryker—” Harold starts but is cut off by Kyce, springing to his feet and leaning over the table.
“It’s all my fault. I’ve told her that.” He blurts and my heart slams against my ribs. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. How the hell was I to know it would’ve?”
“It was a possibility I hoped you’d never wanted tested,” Ryker growls and leans down closer. “You gambled and your luck ran out. All your life you’ve been the baby. Everyone covered for your ass. Me. Jackson. Hell, even Sarah has. We put up with your juvenile antics for years. Not this time. I’m not standing for it. I’m not going to sweep this one under the rug. This time it falls on you. All of it. I’ll never fucking forgive you.”
Ryker digs in his back pocket, pulls out some bills for the swear jar and places them beside Gracie’s plate. “That’ll cover it,” he grits through his teeth with a weak smile and then peers to his mother. “Happy Anniversary.”
He grabs my hand and tugs me out of my chair, heading out the door.
“Get in,” he says, opening the truck door, and helps me in.
I’m scrambling to catch my breath when he pulls out into the road. “You’ve talked to him?”
The question is more of a statement…an angry statement. I don’t answer.
“I asked you of one fucking thing, Whit. One.”
“Ryker…” I don’t know what to say and I’m not about to get Kyce in more trouble than he already is with his brother, so I silence.
“You were deceitful,” he says.
I shake my head, blinking back tears.
“When did you see him?” he asks.
I don’t answer keeping my view on my clenched hands in my lap.
He doesn’t chase the argument.
Chapter 19
Ryker, angrier than hell, races to the gym, slams out of his truck, and storms into the building. Leaving me behind. I dig my fingers into my forehead, begging my tears to slow to a stop. Being an only child, that was intense to witness. I never had my family argue with me like that. Sure, my parents fussed at me for certain child-like things, but the level of anger never escalated to that.
His phone rings, lighting up Jackson’s name.
�
��Hello?” I answer.
“Where’s Ryker?” he snaps.
“In the gym,” I say, trying to control the shake in my voice.
“Tell him I’m on my damn way,” he barks and then hangs up on me.
My legs feel like rubber as I climb the stairs and step into the gym. Fear courses through my veins, threatening me with the tears I’ve finally gotten to stop flowing.
He’s beating the hell out of the punching bag across from the ring. It’s his “out” for his anger.
“Jackson called and said he’s on his way,” I tell him with a quivering voice.
He doesn’t acknowledge me, continuing to slam his glove-covered knuckles against the leather.
I’m surprised he grabbed his gloves in his fit of rage.
I sit on the bench by his office, waiting with bated breath for Jackson to show. And I don’t have to wait very long when I see headlights pull into the parking lot.
Jackson pulls open the door, anger flaring from his eyes as he storms in. It’s the same look I’ve seen on Ryker. It’s a scary sight, but that’s not the most frightening thing in this very moment. Kyce directly behind Jackson has my pulse screaming into my fingertips.
“What in the fuck is he doing here?” Ryker snarls.
Jackson strides right up to Ryker and shoves him so hard Ryker stumbles back. “Get your stupid fucking ass in the ring.”
Ryker’s chuckle is full of malice. The evilness it carries sends a shiver to my bones. I watch in sheer panic as Ryker meets Jackson in the center of the ring with his chest puffed out, gloved fists at his sides and murder in his vision.
Jackson turns to Kyce and hands him a pair of gloves.
“What are you doing?” I yell, panicking for Kyce.
Immediately, the glower I get from Jackson shuts me up and sits me down.
“I’ve listened to the both of you bitch. You two want to beat the fuck out of each other for whatever the reason, then shut the fuck up and do it. But you’ll do it here, protected. Now go right the fuck ahead.”