Taming Irish

by Seabrook, C. M.

“Then what is it?”

  “I should go.” The corner of her lips lifts slightly, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  She’s going to walk out that door. Out of my life. Again. Panic claws at my throat.

  “Are you staying with your mom?” I inch closer, ready to grab her if she decides to bolt.

  “No. You know how she is.”

  Yeah, I know the woman all right.

  “Where you staying?” No way am I letting her leave here without knowing where she’s going.

  “I’ve watched your fights.” She hugs her arms around her chest, and her sweatshirt shifts, exposing the sharp edge of her collarbone.

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “You’ve done well for yourself.” She glances around the gym, a soft smile touching her lips.

  Fuck, I’ve missed that smile. Missed everything about her. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m happy for you.” Her eyes glaze over and there’s a small quiver to her chin.

  Fuck, are those tears? The Mackenzie I know doesn’t cry. Not without good reason.

  I take a step towards her and her eyes widen. Fear? Arousal? Hope? Hell if I know what’s going on in that pretty head.

  I fight the urge to pull her into my arms.

  She didn’t come here for me.

  “How much do you need?” It’s money she’s here for. The way she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and looks through the window, avoiding my gaze, confirms my suspicion.

  “I don’t want your money,” she says quietly.

  “No. But you need it. How much?”

  “I didn’t come here for help.”

  Another lie.

  “Bullshit. Why else would you be here?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “I’ve been here all along.” I cross my arms over my chest, mirroring her defensive stance. “Why now?”

  Her lips tighten in a thin line and she shakes her head. “I’m back for a few days. That’s all.”

  Another goddamn lie. Anger simmers close to the surface.

  “You got your wish. You saw me. What now?” I ball my fingers into fists at my sides to keep from reaching out and grazing my knuckles over her pale cheek. Even after all these years, the need to touch her overwhelms my sanity. I don’t realize how close I’ve gotten until I feel her warm, uneven breath against my bare chest.

  “Boss? Phone call.” Moody leans against the office door watching us. I can’t read his expression, which isn’t good. When I don’t move, he adds, “They’re wanting to reschedule your fight.”

  Shit. I have to take it. Cracking my neck, I straighten. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Her fingers are shaking again when she reaches out to touch my hand. It’s a small gesture, but the single touch makes my cock jerk in response.

  “It was good seeing you.”

  I huff in response. It was better than good. But fear keeps me from saying more.

  With a sharp nod, I take a step back.

  I’ve never felt like such a coward in my life. Of all the times I imagined what I would say, what I would do if I ever saw her again, letting her walk out the door wasn’t one of them.

  She hesitates, then pushes through the door, disappearing around the corner.

  I stand there, frozen, unable to move or even breathe.

  Bottom line, I loved Mackenzie Brooks, and she demolished me. No matter the highs I chase – the booze, the women, the adrenaline rush of stepping into the cage – nothing can fill the void she left in my soul.

  Was I really about to let her walk away again?

  CHAPTER 2

  Mackenzie

  I can barely breathe as I run down the sidewalk, dodging other pedestrians. Tears blur my vision, and I swipe angrily at them with my sleeve.

  Going to see Theo was stupid. Reckless. Desperate. But I’m out of choices. And out of money.

  A horn blares when I step off the curb and into oncoming traffic.

  Shit. I jump back on the sidewalk, fingers shaking, legs gone to jelly.

  “Watch where you’re going!” a man shouts through a car window.

  I give a small wave of apology, then rub my hands over my face and wait for the lights to change.

  With a trembling breath, I pull the hood of my sweater over my head and tug at the strings, then move quickly across the street, praying that no one recognizes me.

  I need to get back. Figure out what I’m going to do. Then get the hell out of town.

  But Theo…His face. His voice. Five minutes with him and I feel like I’m nineteen again. Like the past three years, the lies and deception, never happened.

  I pass a small bakery and the smell of freshly baked bread drifts through the open door. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten today.

  The women’s shelter is still a good twenty-minute walk. Fifteen if I run. If I hurry, I’ll make it back in time for dinner.

  Despite the heaviness in my body, I start to jog.

  Returning empty-handed, I feel like the complete screw-up that I am. No money. No home. No prospects. At least in Clinton, I had a job and a place to stay. Sure, it was a dump, but it was my dump.

  The only reason I came back here was to claim the money my great aunt left me.

  What a joke that turned out to be.

  My fingers ball into fists and I grunt, playing back the scene in my head.

  Somehow, my mother tapped into the account and depleted the savings, claiming it was what I owed her.

  A small, bitter laugh bubbles to the surface, burning my throat.

  The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. But I learned a long time ago that there’s no point arguing with a narcissistic drunk addicted to pain meds. Even if I confronted her about it, she’d find a way to twist the story around, and become the victim.

  Twenty-five hundred dollars wasn’t worth the fight that would ensue.

  She can have the money. I’ll find another way to survive. I always do.

  A sun-faded poster in one of the shop windows catches my eye. I’ve seen it a thousand times, but it always takes my breath away. Fists up, muscles bulging underneath tanned skin, Theo stares down his opponent. His eyes look dark, almost black, not the rich, warm brown I know they are. His jaw is set, full lips pulled down in a fierce scowl. Dark hair, cut short, unlike the longer waves that fell over his forehead and ears today.

  I don’t realize I’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk until someone bumps me from behind. The woman grumbles and pushes past. I ignore her and turn back to the poster, stopping myself from reaching out and tracing the outline of his face.

  The world has a love-hate relationship with Theo Ryan. It always has. Men love to hate him, and women hate to love him. It’s like people are waiting with eager anticipation for him to step off a cliff. To self-implode. To come tumbling down from the pedestal they placed him on.

  But they don’t know him the way I do. Under all his edginess and arrogance, he’s a man who would do anything to protect the people he cares about, even those who’ve wronged him. It’s the reason I had to walk away. So far away that no matter how hard he looked, he would never find me. To give him a chance to live the life he was destined to live.

  His success may have shocked the world, but it didn’t surprise me. Ever since we were kids, I knew Theo Ryan was destined for greatness.

  The opposite of everything I am.

  My reflection in the window ghosts over the poster. Face gaunt, eyes tired, I feel ten years older than I am.

  A thousand regrets roll to the surface.

  Maybe if things had been different…if I could change that one night...

  I shake my head and grind my back teeth together.

  Too many ifs race through my mind.

  I can’t change the past, and in truth, no matter how messed up my life is, I know if I had the choice I wouldn’t change what I did. That’s the sick reality of it.

  I hate l
ying to Theo. But to tell him the truth would shatter his perfect world.

  READ MORE ABOUT THIS COCKY MMA FIGHTER NOW:

  Theo (Fighting Blind)

  Preview: Moody

  Prologue

  Moody

  Four years ago…

  My head is pounding, my ears are ringing, and my tongue feels like it’s two sizes too big for my mouth, but the hangover is nothing compared to the sharp pain that slices my chest when I look down at the woman in my bed.

  White sheets drape over her lush curves. Blonde hair rests in gentle waves around her shoulders, across the delicate line of her back.

  Isabelle Stewart. Izzy. My best friend’s sister. The friend who’s currently fighting for his life in Intensive Care because of me.

  One punch. That’s all it took. One fucking punch, and the next thing I know Griffin is on the mat, eyes rolled back in his head, seizing.

  I never should have agreed to the fight. Griffin’s a good fighter, but he’d been warned by several doctors that one more head injury could be fatal.

  Idiot. Him. Me. Believing that we’re gods of our own mortality. What bullshit. Twenty-four years old, and he may never wake up again, because I’m a greedy son of a bitch who has no fucking control in or out of the ring.

  “Moody?” Izzy stretches and blinks up at me, her blue eyes full of question and concern.

  I have to turn away, because I don’t deserve the sympathy I see there, and I know that if I let her in, even an inch, I won’t be able to walk away. And that’s exactly what I have to do.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the gym.” I finish buckling my belt, then lean over to pick up my discarded t-shirt. “I’ve got a fight this weekend.”

  “If you want to go to the hospital later, I’ll go with you.” She sits up, watching me warily.

  “No.” The word comes out harsher than I intend, and I see her wince. “Your father made it clear he doesn’t want me there.”

  As clear as being shoved up against a brick wall and having his fist in my face, while threatening to put my sorry ass in prison. I let the bastard hit me, multiple times, because hell, I deserved it.

  “Give him time. He’ll realize it wasn’t your fault.” The compassion in her voice tightens my chest.

  I grunt, knowing she’s wrong. “Don’t you have class today or something?”

  A small quiver of breath, and a slight flare of her nostrils; it’s the only indication she gives that I’ve hurt her.

  I curse myself under my breath, fighting the urge to go to her, wrap my arms around her, and take the acceptance and love she so easily gives.

  The stain of her innocence is still on the sheets. Fuck, if I’d known she’d still been a virgin, I never would have taken her so carelessly.

  Repulsion rolls in my stomach. Not for her, but for what I’ve done.

  The Destroyer. That’s what they call me in the ring, and I’ve never felt it more than now.

  Everything I touch I destroy.

  I’ve done asshole things before, but never to this magnitude.

  The knowledge of the mistake I made the night before pounds into my brain like a bloody sledgehammer.

  I’d been drunk. But it was no fucking excuse. I knew what I was doing when I let her drive me back to my place. Knew exactly how it would end. I’d told myself I deserved a few hours of relief from the pain. But it was just an excuse. I needed her. All of her.

  Fuck, she was the only thing holding my shredded sanity together.

  Izzy. Perfect, beautiful, innocent Izzy. I know the girl has been half in love with me for years, but I kept my distance. Not only because I knew Griffin would beat the shit out of me if I touched her, but because she’s too good for me.

  It’s not just that she’s gorgeous. Hell, I’ve had my share of beautiful women. But not one of them possessed the light that Izzy illuminates. Like a beacon in the darkest pit of hell, one smile makes my chest clench and my heart miss a beat.

  And she’s smart. No, not just smart – brilliant. At twenty-two, she’s already finishing up her second year of med school. And I have no doubt she’ll graduate with honors, whatever the hell that even means, but it’s something she always seems to be stressing about.

  College was never an option for me even if I could’ve afforded it.

  Fighting is all I know. The only thing I’m good at. My saving grace. The one thing that kept me going when life decided to kick me to the curb. My only regret is dragging Griffin into it with me.

  Like Izzy, he’s got book smarts. He could have done anything he wanted. Instead, he traded a lucrative career at his father’s law firm for the adrenaline rush of the ring.

  And now what does he have? A brain bleed and a forty percent chance of never opening his eyes again.

  A cold shiver races down my spine.

  Izzy’s watching me, her gaze full of apprehension.

  “Maybe I can come over after I visit Griffin. I can give you an update and–”

  “I’ll call the hospital if I want an update.”

  Silence. Shit, I’m such an asshole. And I hate myself for it.

  “Right.” She blinks and a single tear slips down her cheek, but she quickly wipes it away.

  If I was a better man I’d go to her, tell her everything will be all right. But the thing is, I know the truth. Nothing will ever be all right again. I’ve destroyed both our worlds, and the longer I stay, the more destruction I’ll leave in my wake.

  She deserves so much more than the black emptiness I carry inside me.

  “Okay,” she says softly, reaching for her clothes. Each movement is tortured, stiff, and I can almost hear the self-degrading thoughts going through her head.

  Tell her the truth. Tell her what an asshole you really are. Tell her that her brother is in the hospital because of you. And not just because it was your fist that caused the aneurysm to burst, but because he never would have been in the ring in the first place if you didn’t need the money to pay off your fucking gambling debt.

  Tell her anything to make her hate you instead of hating herself.

  “I’ll go.” She slides off the bed, gathering her clothes.

  “Yeah.” I rake my fingers over my face. “That’s probably for the best.”

  Her sharp intake of breath is worse than a slap to the face.

  Bastard. Asshole. Prick. I know I’m all those things and more. But the best thing I can do for her is let her walk away.

  I pace restlessly as she finishes getting dressed and finds her purse and keys.

  Gaze downcast, she moves towards the door.

  “I’m sorry, Izzy.”

  “Don’t be.” She turns, her hand resting on the door handle. She looks at me, and her blue eyes are full of resignation. “I shouldn’t have expected anything more from you.”

  Her words bite, but I know she’s right. Only for the first time, I wish she was wrong, because as she walks out the door I know I’ve just let a piece of my heart leave with her.

  Chapter 1

  Izzy

  Four years later…

  “I hate parties,” I mumble under my breath, taking the glass of wine that my brother Griffin hands me.

  He gives me one of his lopsided smiles, the right side of his face slightly slack. It’s the only tell-tale sign of his brain aneurysm, along with the slight drag of his right foot when he walks, but I know he hides the internal ones. The headaches, the mood swings, the depression.

  “Your fiancé seems to be enjoying himself.” Griffin nods in Jason’s direction, where a roar of laughter comes from the group of men surrounding him.

  Jason looks over at me and winks, a broad smile stretching across his handsome face.

  Fiancé. I still haven’t gotten used to the word. It just seems so formal. So forced. But then, I’d barely gotten used to dating him when he popped the big question – in front of both our families on Christmas Eve.

  “It’s just a bit much. All of it.” I bite my lip,
instantly regretting putting a voice to my thoughts.

  “I take it the engagement party wasn’t your idea?” Griffin tilts his beer back and takes a deep swig, watching me with blue eyes so similar to my own, filled with something that looks too close to guilt for my liking.

  But what would he have to be guilty about?

  “No.” What I wouldn’t give for my own bed and a good book right now. But instead, I have to suffer through two more hours in high heels, then a night shift in the ER. “But Mom and Dad look like they’re having fun.”

  In fact, I’ve never seen my parents so happy. They love Jason. Everyone does. Well, everyone except Griffin. He hasn’t voiced his concerns, but I see it in the tightness of his features when he talks to him.

  “I was thinking of heading over to Charlie’s if you want to get out of here.” Griffin tugs at his tie and grimaces. “I’ve got to get out of this suit before I suffocate.”

  “Drama queen.” I chuckle, smiling politely at a young woman who holds out a tray of hors d’oeuvres, despite the way my stomach turns at the sluggish looking paste that tops brioche bread. “If I have to stay here, so do you.”

  “Sounds fair,” Griffin says sarcastically.

  “Oh my God, is that Moody Brock?” a woman beside me asks in a loud whisper that sounds more like a cat in heat.

  Moody Brock.

  Just hearing his name makes my throat close and every muscle in my body tense. I don’t need to turn around to feel his presence. It’s like the molecules in the air change, and the temperature increases by several degrees.

  Shit.

  I look at my brother accusingly. “You invited Moody?”

  Griffin frowns at me. “You two used to be friends.”

  “That was a long time ago, before–”

  “Don’t.” Griffin’s face darkens. “What happened was my own fault.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You know I don’t blame him. But if Dad sees him here, he’ll flip.”

  “I’ll deal with Dad.”

  I glance over at my father whose face is bright red from a mixture of whisky and laughing.

  “You shouldn’t have invited him,” I say harshly, just before Moody’s gaze lands on me.