The look of surprise on Coach’s face would have been laughable if Kyle wasn’t sure he’d just tanked his career.
“Willow quit. And I can tell by the lack of surprise on your face that you don’t know nothin’ about that either, huh? Fine. Don’t feel like talkin’? Well, how about I do it, then.”
It wasn’t a question and Kyle tensed, preparing for the holy fire that was about to rain down on him.
“You know what this looks like, right? It’s no secret you and Regan didn’t want to face off in the octagon. One might think—and by ‘one’ I mean Dean—that this was orchestrated by the both of you to get out of the fight. And if he’s right, you two can kiss your fighting careers goodbye. There ain’t nothing I can do to save either one of you, and you’d better lawyer up because you fucktards just cost the CFA five million dollars.” Then with a little less venom, Coach lowered his voice and asked with genuine concern, “How’s your knee, son?”
“ACL is torn.” He would rather not have given Coach that news right now, but the guy was going to be getting the doctor’s report soon enough.
“Shit,” he growled, jacking his hands into his thinning hair. And Kyle was pretty sure his team was responsible for those sparse locks. It couldn’t be easy managing a camp of MMA fighters. “Gonna need surgery?”
“Not sure yet, but it looks that way.”
“All right. This is how it’s gonna be. Until I get this shit sorted out, and trust me, I will get to the bottom of it, you’re suspended. Congratulations. You just bought yourself some face time with Dr. Summers. Want some advice?”
Not really, but when did that ever stop you?
“Take advantage of it, because you’ve got issues that need dealt with. If you’re lucky, by the time this is all over, you might still have a job. And if not, I don’t know what the hell to tell you. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.” Exhaling a sigh, he dragged a hand through his thinning hair. “I’m not going to be around here forever, you know. I’m old and I’m tired. All you boys are going to have to get your acts together and start acting like the fucking professionals you are.”
With that parting comment, Coach gave Kyle the “now, get your ass out of here” and he limped out the door feeling just about as shitty as he expected. Coach was right, he was too old for this, and Kyle resented like hell being the cause of that man’s distress.
He headed out the way he’d come, down the administrative hall, and cursed his rotten luck when Del Toro called his name.
If Kyle thought for one second his gimp ass could outrun the pursuing fighter, he might have pretended he hadn’t heard him and made a dash for the door. Slowing his steps, he turned to wait for Del Toro.
“How’d it go with Coach?”
“As good as expected.”
“That well, huh? You tell him the truth? About Willow and Matthews?”
“Nope.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s not going to fix this. All it proves is that Regan is a lying, backstabbing bastard and I lost my temper. In what way would either of us come out of this not looking like assholes?”
“Oh, you’re an asshole,” he chuckled, slapping him on the back. “But not for the reason you’re thinking.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothin’.” He held up his hands in surrender, but Kyle wasn’t buying it. Nikko Del Toro didn’t back down—ever. “I promised Willow I wasn’t getting into this.”
“You saw Willow?” The question was out of his mouth before he could call it back. Just the mention of her name made his chest ache with regret. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since the night she walked out. He could only assume she was staying at Regan’s but he didn’t even know that for sure.
He wanted to see her, to make sure she was all right. They needed to talk, but what was there to say? They’d traded verbal shots—well-placed jabs. Upon reflection, some had been below the belt. They’d both taken damage and they’d hurt each other badly. The only difference between Willow and Kyle was that, as mad as he might have been, he never would have chosen anyone over her. Knowing that love and solidarity only ran one way was painful.
“Yeah. I saw her when she was here cleaning out her locker.”
Kyle wondered what she’d said, but decided not to ask. He was probably better off not knowing.
“Listen,” Del Toro said, lowering his voice and stepping closer. “I want to talk to you about Pen.”
Kyle scowled. “What about her?”
Del Toro exhaled a breath. “You know me, and I don’t usually get involved in this shit. I couldn’t care less who you’re dicking in your spare time but…have you called or texted Pen since you two, you know, hooked up?”
No, he hadn’t. And honestly, he’d meant to, but with everything he’d been dealing with, he hadn’t had the time or been in the frame of mind to talk to anyone. Which, now that he thought about it, totally explained why she’d been so salty toward him at the hospital. He’d told her he’d call and then never did. She probably thought he was blowing her off, and he kinda was, just not on purpose.
“Shit, I haven’t. I told her I would, but with everything that’s been going on, I’ve been a bit preoccupied. I know she’s pissed—”
“Oh, she’s pissed all right. But not because you haven’t called. She thinks you’re stalking her.”
“She what? That’s crazy.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said when Violet told me. But that’s what Pen told her. Apparently, she’s been getting harassing messages since you guys hooked up.”
Messages? “Someone’s harassing Penelope?” And just like that, those protective instincts lit up.
“It looks that way.”
“I’ve got to go talk to her.”
“Thought you might. Look, I don’t know Pen much better than you do, but in case you weren’t aware, that girl’s about as cuddly as a porcupine when she’s pissed.”
Oh, he was well aware. She’d hit him with a few quills at the hospital. But truthfully, he kinda liked that about her. It was refreshing to be around a woman who wasn’t all doe-eyed and swoony whenever he was near her. He’d spent so much time around cage-bangers over the last few years, he’d forgotten what it was like to be treated like a regular guy.
“FYI, I get the feeling that girl has got some baggage.”
Kyle huffed a humorless grunt. “Don’t we all?”
Chapter Seven
The good news? Her ankle wasn’t broken. The bad? It still hurt like hell. Battling the remnants of a nasty hangover, Pen had finally gotten settled onto the couch, her foot elevated and the ice pack strategically placed over the swollen knot on her ankle, when the doorbell rang. She considered ignoring it. Not only did she want to avoid hobbling across the house, but she was not in the mood for company.
But her uninvited guest added knocking to the routine and it was obvious that whoever was out there had no intention of leaving. That’d teach her to leave her car parked in the driveway. Vowing never to make that mistake again, she muttered a curse fit for a sailor and swung her feet onto the floor. Each step was a painful advance. She glanced out the window to see who was at the door and saw an old orange Charger parked in the driveway. The only thing it was missing was a 01 painted on the side and a confederate flag on the roof and that car would have been the spitting image of the General Lee from the Dukes of Hazzard.
Odd, the unexpected triggers that sent her memories catapulting into the past. At least this time they were comforting. One of the last good ones she had as a child was sitting with her dad and watching reruns of the iconic program on TV Land. She’d been eleven, maybe twelve. Not long after that—
Bang, bang, bang…
She startled at the noise that ripped her from the past and slammed her back in the present with whiplashing speed. Pen wrenched open the door, saw who was standing there, and then quickly tried to slam it. But not fast enough, because a foot lodged in
the small space, preventing it from closing. Panic gripped her like an invisible vice, squeezing her throat until she couldn’t breathe as her fight or flight kicked into full self-preservation mode.
“Pen, wait.” Lost in her fear, she almost missed when Kyle tacked on. “Please.” He must have seen the panic on her face because he quickly added, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
It made no rational sense why she should trust him. No, not trust, but at least pause long enough to hear what he had to say. Maybe it was the “please,” that tipped the scale, offering her a false sense of control when she knew in her heart that none existed where this man was concerned.
Indecision had her hesitating long enough for him to explain. “Nikko told me what’s been going on. It isn’t me, Pen. Whoever’s doing this to you.”
“Why should I believe you? Because you say so? Sorry, not good enough. This all started the day after we slept together. I don’t believe in coincidences, Kyle.”
“Maybe it’s not, but you also seem like a pretty logical woman. Think about it, Pen. Do I really look like I’ve got to stalk a woman to get laid?”
Vi had made the same point. Albeit, she’d said it a bit more eloquently. If this was true, Pen wasn’t sure if she felt fear or relief. Better the devil you know than the one you don’t. If Kyle was telling the truth, then she had a whole different set of problems on her hands.
“Can I come in?”
Another question to make her think she had some semblance of control. “Do I have a choice?”
He removed his foot from the door. “Yes.”
If she was going to slam it in his face, then now was the time. But those vibrant blue eyes locked on hers, and what she saw reflecting in them gave her pause. It’d been a long time since someone was concerned for her. The intensity of his stare caught her off guard, and it was for that reason—or the only one she’d admit to—that Pen took a conceding step back and opened the door for Kyle to come in.
He entered the foyer, his watchful gaze studying her as he took up too much of the small space between them. Air stalled in her lungs. The growing silence began to make her nervous and she bit her bottom lip—a nervous tic she’d worked hard to break years ago.
“How’s the ankle?” He nodded at her foot.
That wasn’t what she thought he was going to say. Surely, he didn’t come over to chit chat about her difficulty ambulating. In fact, why was he here? If he wasn’t the guy harassing her, then she’d been embarrassingly rude to him—more than once. Why would he possibly care if someone was giving her a hard time?
“I’ll live,” she grumbled, turning to limp toward the kitchen. Pen hoped a little distance between them would help calm her nerves. She wasn’t sure she appreciated the effect his presence had on her. It messed with her obsessive need for control. “How’s your knee?”
Vi had told her about the fight between Kyle and his friend Regan after they’d run into him at the hospital, but she didn’t know any of the details.
“I’ll live.” He echoed her sentiment back at her.
“You want a beer?” His brow arched, as if surprised by her shift from hostility to hospitality. But considering the way she’d treated him for the last week, the least she could do was offer him a beer before sending him on his way. And that was something she’d be doing very soon, because there was a surprising amount of chemistry crackling between her and the sexy fighter. She’d already broken more than enough of her carefully guarded rules where he was concerned. She would not disregard her single most important one—absolutely no repeat performances.
“Sure.”
He entered the kitchen and even with his limp, she couldn’t help noticing the fluidity in the way he moved—all that strength and restrained power. Shoving the thoughts aside, she opened the refrigerator door and grabbed two bottles. After pulling the magnetic bottle-opener off the side of the fridge, she popped the tops and handed him one.
“Thanks.”
He tipped it back and she averted her gaze from his thick, muscular neck as he took a long pull off the bottle. Without the fear that he was going to kill her, Pen’s hormones were buzzing to life. “Why are you here, Kyle?”
The impatience in her tone had nothing to do with him personally and everything to do with her frustration over her body’s unwanted response to the hot-as-fuck man candy standing in her kitchen. But he didn’t know that and she wasn’t about to clarify the misconception.
Kyle gave her a surprised look. Maybe he wasn’t used to her type of candor. No doubt guys like him expected women to fawn all over them. If he was expecting that from her, he’d be sorely disappointed.
“Nikko told me about the messages. I want to see them, Pen.”
“What? No.” If Kyle didn’t send them, then this was none of his business. She didn’t want him getting involved. “I hardly see how that’s going to—”
“Just let me see the goddamn messages, Penelope.”
If Kyle thought getting high-handed with her was the way to get what he wanted, then he was sorely mistaken. Then again, she’d learned a long time ago to pick and choose her battles, and if the end goal was to get him to leave, then why not let him see the texts, and then she could give him the boot.
Pen exhaled a frustrated sigh and retrieved the cell from the table. After opening her messages, she handed over the phone. As he read through them, thumb scrolling over the screen to advance the thread, she studied his profile—the square angle of his jaw, the surprisingly straight bridge of his nose a testament to his skill as a fighter because this face was too perfect, too unblemished. His brows tightened as he read on, his scowl sharpening the severity of his masculine features until he looked every bit as foreboding as he did when he stepped into the cage.
“Seriously, Pen. You actually thought I was doing this to you? This is some messed up shit.”
A pinch of guilt made her wince. “I’m sorry—”
“This guy has a screw loose. You need to go to the police.”
She knew he was going to say that. It was the same thing Vi had been telling her. But Pen had no intention of doing that, and she wasn’t about to explain to either one of them why. So, she fed Kyle the same half-assed bullshit reasoning she’d given her bestie, hoping he’d accept it better than Vi had. “And tell them what? That some guy with an untraceable cell number is texting me. Text messaging is not illegal. I already talked to my cell provider. The number isn’t registered. It’s a burner. Besides, nothing else has happened—”
“Yet,” he cut in.
Thanks for that tidbit.
“Pen, I’m worried about you.”
“Why?” she challenged. Maybe it made her a cunty bitch to lash out at him, but she’d learned a long time ago not to take people at face value. “This isn’t your problem and I haven’t exactly been nice to you, so why do you give a shit what happens to me?”
The corner of his mouth tipped and that crooked grin made her go all melty inside. “Oh, I disagree. That first night we met, I’d say you were very nice to me.”
“So that’s why you’re here, then? Make nice, play your part as the caring fighter so you can go another round in my bed?” Why wasn’t she surprised? Typical male—at the end of the day, they were all the same.
He laughed, but the sound was more like a sarcastic grunt. “If I was looking to get laid, I wouldn’t need to come trolling around here to do it. Maybe saying that makes me sound like an asshole, but I am Kyle-fucking-Scott. For the last time, Pen, I’m worried about you. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
Because it didn’t make sense, that’s why. Because she’d been on her own, taking care of herself for so long that the idea of depending on anyone was scarier than the idea of someone stalking her. “Because…” she replied as if the answer were obvious. “You said it yourself. You’re Kyle-fucking-Scott. I’m sure you have more important things to concern yourself with than me.”
Before he could respond, she turned away and dumped
the rest of her beer down the sink. This visit was over. Who did he think he was kidding? A world-famous MMA fighter was not going to be interested in her for anything more than a fuck. Guys like Kyle lived by the motto “hit it and quit it”. And that was just fine with her because she wasn’t looking for anything more. What pissed her off was him coming here pretending that wasn’t what this was about. And she couldn’t even entertain the possibility of the alternative. In Pen’s messed up logic, having this sexy as sin fighter standing in her kitchen acting like he actually gave two shits about her only made her edgy and more defensive.
He cursed, his steps drawing closer when she wished he would have taken the easy out and headed toward the door. It would save them both a whole lot of heartache in the end, because this man made her feel too much, and she hated how raw and exposed that left her.
His hand settled on her shoulder and she could feel the heat of his touch all the way to her toes. The warmth stalled in her chest, making her heart ache with regret over what could never be. His nearness robbed her of the space she desperately needed to clear her head. With a gentle grip, he turned her to face him. He seemed to move with deliberate slowness, as if he knew any sudden movement would spook her, sending her bolting from the kitchen. His eyes remained fixed on hers as he set his beer on the counter and then reached up, grasping her other shoulder.
Their gazes were locked in a wordless standoff. His sapphire eyes asked questions she had no intention of answering. The concern she saw there was hard enough to accept, but the sympathy banked in those beautiful blues sparked her anger because it made her feel weak—like a victim—something she no longer was.
Clearing her throat of the emotion she felt building in there, Pen finally spoke. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl, Kyle. I can take care of myself.”
She tried to step away but his hold on her tightened. His jaw clenched, that little muscle flexing in his cheek. She could see the internal struggle playing across his handsome features. Acquiesce or press her for answers he wasn’t going to get? It would only push her farther away, and to his credit, he seemed to understand that. This wasn’t Kyle’s problem. She wasn’t his responsibility.
In for the Win Page 6