“You bet.” She kissed her father on the cheek. “See you later.”
Nice Guy Malone held his hand out and Crush shook it. “It was really nice meeting you, Lou.”
“You, too, sir.”
“Call me Butch.” With a wink at his daughter, Mr. Malone walked off.
Cella kept smiling until her father was in the elevators and gone. Then she faced Crush and said, “So what do you wanna do tonight?”
“Uh—”
“Cella!”
Malone looked over her shoulder and smiled at the tiger male who came to her side. He wasn’t nearly as big as Butch. Crush was guessing he wasn’t Siberian, either.
“Hey. What are you doing here?”
“I was a block up meeting with a client.”
“Lou Crushek,” she said, “this is Brian Carpenter. My daughter’s father.”
Startled, but having trained years not to show it, Crush nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
“And before you ask, Bri, I’m not discussing wedding plans with you.”
“Fine. Bachelorette party then.”
“I’m definitely not discussing that with you.”
“No strippers, Cella.”
“Oh, come on!”
“No. Strippers. I mean it. Are we clear?”
“You really just came over here to tell me that?”
“Why else would I come over here? To watch my daughter’s mother get the shit beaten out of her? I can see that during family get-togethers. Now say it with me ... no strippers. Male or female.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
The tiger smiled. “Thanks, beautiful.” He kissed her cheek and gave her a quick hug. “Gotta go.”
“And don’t forget about tomorrow. We gotta come to an agreement about what we’re going to get baby girl for her birthday so they can deliver it by Sunday.”
“I thought we already decided.”
“We did not decide.”
“Maybe I already decided.”
“Really? You wanna go that route with me? Really?”
“You’re being difficult.”
“I’m always difficult. That’s what you love about me.”
“Yeah. Right.”
He walked off and Malone faced Crush. “So, about tonight—”
“I’m going home.”
“Oh.” And she had the nerve to look surprised. “Okay. Well ... I hope you had a good time.”
That Crush couldn’t lie about. “I had a great time. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. I hope I get to see you around some time.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Crush walked away from her, heading toward the elevators, and home.
“Man, does that guy run hot and cold.” She faced Novikov and Blayne. “At the very least you’d think he’d want to sleep with the ‘Bare Knuckles’ Malone.”
Shaking her head and throwing her hands up in the air, Blayne let out a big, overdramatic sigh.
“What’s that for?”
Unable to speak—which was amazing for Blayne—she motioned to Novikov.
“What?” Cella pushed.
“You’re really surprised he left?” Novikov asked.
“Yeah. I wore these sweats on purpose—they make my ass look great. I have a beautiful smile—as always. And we had a great game.”
“We had an okay game,” Novikov felt the need to correct. Cella balled her fingers into fists and he waved the correction away. “Forget I said anything.”
“I will. So explain to me what I did wrong with Mr. Uptight.”
Blayne lunged forward, forefinger jabbing dangerously, but Novikov pulled her back and held her with one hand.
“I’ll run it down for you. You introduced that tiger as your daughter’s father.”
“Bri is her father.”
“You discussed your gift-giving plans.”
“It’s Meghan’s eighteenth on Sunday and we’re planning to give her a car, but we have to figure out which one. Something sporty or something reliable? I’m thinking sporty.”
“Right. You also briefly talked about wedding plans and a bachelorette party.”
“My mom is the planner for Bri’s wedding here and I’m maid of honor in the States so I’m handling that bachelorette party for Rivka. I still don’t see the problem.”
“That’s because you’re looking at each thing individually when you should be stepping back and taking in the whole discussion. Then pretend for five seconds that you’re a normal person rather than, ya know, you, and think about how a normal person would see that whole thing without having any context whatso—”
“Oh, my God!”
Novikov nodded. “Exactly.”
Crush neared the front door of the Sports Center, the full-humans instinctively moving out of his way, when the feline suddenly cut in front of him. She slapped her hand against his chest, stopping him from going any farther.
“It’s not my wedding.”
Crush frowned. “Pardon?”
She took a breath—she must have run all the way up—and repeated, “It’s not my wedding. He’s father to my child, but he’s not marrying me. He’s marrying someone else completely.”
“And will he get custody?”
“Custody of who?”
“The child that can barely reach the stove, but you leave alone for hours?”
“Barely reach the ... You mean Meghan?” She laughed. “Meghan’s seventeen.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously, I was joking. You have heard of jokes, right?”
“Thought jokes were supposed to be funny.”
“It helps if one has a sense of humor.” She patted his chest. “But with some work and care, I’m sure I can give you one.”
“No thanks.”
Startled, she took a step back. “You’re not going to give me a chance to prove I’m a wonderful person?”
“You already think you’re a wonderful person. What do you need me for?”
She dropped her hands to her hips, squinting up at him.
“What?”
“I’m trying to figure out if you’re just a dick or if you’re really an uptight, overthinking good guy?”
“How about I make the decision for you.”
Crush stepped around her and walked out, determined to get away from this insane feline. And, as the door closed behind him, Crush heard her bark, “Well I guess it’s just you being a dick then, huh?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cella woke up swinging, but her wrists were quickly caught and held and a strong voice snapped, “Ma!”
Cella opened her eyes, immediately relaxed. “Hey, baby. Was I sleep-punching again?”
“No.” Meghan released her.
“What time is it?”
“Three a.m.”
“Really?” Then Cella grinned and threw her arms wide, wrapping them around her daughter. “Baby, it’s your birthday!”
Meghan hugged her back, but sighed. “Yeah. Great birthday.”
“What’s wrong?” Cella leaned back. “You and Josie have a fight?”
“No. I got my ... ya know.”
“Your period? Would you just say it? You’re going to be a doctor.”
“I’d prefer to say my menstruation started, but then you’d get bitchy about that.”
“That just sounds snobby.”
“Anyway, I was wondering if you could take me to the twenty-four-hour drugstore on Jericho Turnpike? I’m out of supplies.”
“Your cousins don’t have anything you can use?”
“I’m sure they do ... they also have brothers that I’d rather not sit around with on my birthday discussing this.”
Cella shuddered, remembering life with her own cousins at that age. Nothing was sacred or secret.
Throwing off the covers, Cella got out of bed. “Come on.”
After changing out of her shorts and tank top and into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, she grabbed a
set of SUV keys and they went out onto the street that the Malone family had taken over long before little Meghan was born. It was a street that Nassau police steered clear of. So did any local car thieves or home invaders. Every once in a while, those who didn’t know the area well enough or thought they were too smart to get caught came here looking to steal or just cause problems.
Yeah ... that never ended well.
Cella pulled away from the curb, and headed to the pharmacy. Her daughter, yawning, rested her head against the window.
“You know, baby, you can always take one of the cars yourself if you need to go somewhere.”
“Fine!” her daughter suddenly exploded. “I’m sorry I woke you up! And I’m sorry I’m bothering you to help me out! Next time I won’t!”
Cella hit the brakes, stopping the car at the end of their street. She let the silence percolate for a bit before she asked, “Something amiss, my love?”
Well, she hadn’t meant to do that. “No, no. Of course not,” Meghan lied, hoping her mother would let it go.
Then again, her mother didn’t let anything go. That was what made Cella Malone a great hockey player and killer cat.
But, at the very least, she started driving again.
“Look, Meg, I know you don’t like deep, meaningful conversations, but you can’t yell at me and not tell me what’s going on. What I’m doing wrong.”
“You’re not doing anything wrong. I’m just under a lot of stress right now.”
“The last thing you should have, kid, is stress.”
“There’s just a lot going on, okay? I’ve got school, Daddy’s wedding, or weddings. I’ve never actually left the country before and now I’m going all the way to flippin’ Israel.”
“It’s gorgeous there. You’ll love it. And you’ll have all of KZS watching your ass while you’re there. You couldn’t be more safe if I vacuum-sealed you in a puncture-resistant bag, which I’ve thought about.”
“I’m not worried about my safety, Ma.”
“You should always be worried about your safety anytime you leave the ... front yard.”
Meg’s eyes crossed and she stared out the window.
“Is this about college?”
Meghan cringed, not ready for this conversation. She might never be ready.
“I don’t know what you’re worried about. You’re going to do great at Boston U.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re smart, you’re gorgeous—because you’ve got my genes—and you’ll have the Boston Malones watching out for you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“If you want, we can go up there and spend time with the family one of these upcoming weekends. Go check out the campus, look around ...”
Get her off the subject! Get her off the subject!
“It’s not school. It’s ... it’s ...”
“It’s what?”
“It’s ... you.”
“Me?”
“And the aunts.”
Her mother sighed and Meg could hear the frustration in her voice. “What did Deirdre say to you?”
“Ma.”
“That old bitch is really getting on my last goddamn nerve.”
“Ma! This is what I’m talking about.” And she wasn’t making this part up. “All you do is fight with the aunts. Especially Deirdre.”
“Because she’s evil.”
“She’s not evil. She’s blood.” Meg turned in the seat and looked at her mother. “What is it about Aunt Deirdre that bothers you?”
“Bothers me? That woman hates me, and she’s been trying to turn you against me since your birth. The placenta hadn’t even come out yet when she started in.”
“Ma.”
“Don’t ‘Ma’ me.”
“You know what I want for my birthday?” Meghan snapped. “For you not to fight with Deirdre.”
“Why don’t you just ask for the sun?”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’ll be my birthday all day today. Getting between you and Deirdre.”
“No one asks you to get between us.”
“I can’t have you fighting an old woman!”
“Don’t let her age fool you. She-tigers who manage to live that long are naturally mean and those disfigured knuckles of hers are not from an accident but brawls that she usually started.”
“Like you?”
“I don’t start brawls, baby, I finish them.”
Fed up with the conversation, Meg blew out a breath and focused her gaze straight ahead. The silence lasted until they pulled into the parking lot and that’s when her mother said, “You don’t want me to fight with Deirdre? I won’t fight with Deirdre. I won’t fight with her.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that no matter how hard she pushes, I will not let her goad me into a fight.”
“Ma, you’re not physically capable of doing that.”
“I can do anything.”
“Gliding around on ice while beating up guys ten times your size—this is what you can physically manage. Not fighting with your elderly aunt? Not so much.”
“But I will. For you. Not only that, I’m not going to fight with Deirdre until after you leave for the second wedding.”
“Ma.”
“I’ve made up my mind.”
“But why would you do that?”
“Because I love you. And no matter what that old bitch told you, I did not desert you.”
Startled, Meg looked at her mother. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Of course, I do. It’s not like you ran off to Times Square to be a hooker. You joined the Marines. Besides, there’s no way to desert a Malone cub when you’ve got ten thousand aunts, uncles, and cousins in North America, Hawaii, and Puerto Rico alone.”
“Don’t forget Alaska.”
“Ma, Alaska is part of North America.”
“Whatever.”
When Meg’s eyes crossed, her mother laughed and took Meg’s hand in her own. Cella’s were covered in scars, old and new, some from hockey, some from her work as a “contractor,” and some from just being the East Coast Bare Knuckle Champion five years running.
“I want you to have the best birthday you can possibly have with your personality—”
“Thanks.”
“—and if that means putting up with that vicious old woman and her annoying machinations, I’ll do it. Because I love you and I want you to be fucking happy.”
“Uh ...”
“Now let’s go into this pharmacy and get you some goddamn tampons. My treat!”
Meg watched her mother get out of the SUV, slamming the door behind her.
“I’m so never bored with this family,” she sighed, pushing the door open and following her mother into the store.
CHAPTER NINE
After a few more hours of sleep and a hearty birthday breakfast with Meg that Meg cooked, Cella was on her fifth lap of her Sunday-afternoon run around the neighborhood when she finally admitted that something was definitely going on, and it had nothing to do with the preparations for Meg’s birthday party that evening. Cella noticed it when every time she passed one of her relatives’ house or RV, someone greeted her, asked her how she was doing, whether she wanted some coffee, or if she needed a chat. Malones didn’t chat. They gossiped, but that’s what they called it. Gossip.
Instead of asking one of her uncles, great-aunts, or cousins what the fuck was going on, though, she ran back to her parents’ house. But she knew that was a mistake as soon as she walked into the kitchen. Again, her father, brothers, and aunts were all clustered around the table, but now her mother, lips in a tight, unhappy line, was involved. All of them whispering to each other, and it looked like arguing.
“Oh!” her Aunt Maureen said, way too brightly. “Look who’s back!”
Panting, sweat dripping onto the floor, Cella stared at her family. They stared back and then smiled. All of them smiled. At her.
Even her Aunt Deirdre.
That’s when Cella went up to her room and a much-needed shower.
She was just stepping out, reaching for a towel when she heard the knock at the door.
“Yeah?” she said, cautious. But when Jai peeked around the open door, Cella let out a breath. “Thank God it’s you.”
“What’s wrong?”
Cella motioned for Jai to close the door. “I think they’re plotting my death.”
Jai laughed, then stopped. “Oh. You’re not kidding.”
“They’re acting weird. They’re up to something. Malones just don’t smile at ya ... unless it involves a con or a two-by-four to the back of the head.”
“Yeah.” Jai nibbled her bottom lip. “Or they care about you and your happiness?”
“They’re Malones. They don’t give a shit about my happiness.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. They seem to love you more than you realize.”
Cella’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you saying that? What’s going on?”
“It’s about the upcoming family wedding.”
“Whose wedding? Shannon’s? Sinead’s? Annie’s? Emma’s? Ella’s?
“No.”
“Johnny’s? Jackie’s? Conor’s? Jamie’s?”
“My God, please stop. I’m talking about Bri’s wedding.”
“Bri’s not family.”
“Just your daughter’s father.”
“That don’t make him family. Just makes him a breeder.”
Jai smiled. “I love hanging around you. You guys never fail to entertain me.”
“Spit it out, Davis. What’s going on?”
“There’s concern. About the effect Bri and Rivka’s wedding is having on you.”
“Me? What about me?” The wedding had been in the planning stages for what felt like an eternity, and although Meghan might have some concerns about the event, why would the family care one way or the other? And, especially, why would they suddenly be worried about Cella?
“The family’s concerned that you’re devastated about all this. The engagement. The wedding.”
Cella blinked. “No, I’m not.”
“That you’re hiding your pain behind a façade.”
“A façade of what?”
“General good humor and bravado.”
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