Perhaps it was a misplaced sense of honor that held Regan firm. Maybe it wasn’t. But one thing was for certain: if he felt even a fraction for her of what she felt for him, he would have been willing to risk it. He would have fought for her.
Then the awful thought hit her. What if he didn’t? What if this was nothing more than a fleeting attraction for him? Wanting something he couldn’t have? In all the years she’d known him, Regan had never had a serious girlfriend. Perhaps it was because he was incapable of commitment. What if he was more broken than she realized, and his mother’s betrayal and abandonment had rendered him unable to love or trust another woman?
What if she’d chosen, all those years ago, to give her heart to someone who would never want it? She remembered being thirteen and confessing her feelings to her mother while she sat at the foot of her bed, brushing out Willow’s platinum locks and plaiting them into braids.
It was a Thursday night, and her heart beat with anticipation. The nervous excitement in her stomach made her feel a little nauseated. She glanced anxiously at the clock. Regan would be coming over for supper soon. Hopefully, he would sit next to her as he had last week. She couldn’t stop wondering if he’d done it on purpose. They’d both reached for the bread at the same time, and he’d touched her hand. She’d felt it all the way to her toes, and the butterflies erupting in her stomach had made it impossible to eat.
When she told her mother what had happened, she gave Willow a warm, knowing smile. “You never know what the future will hold.”
In Willow’s case, her future turned out to hold nothing but tragedy, rejection, and heartbreak.
Regan watched her, saying nothing as she fought against the sting of tears threatening to fall. Then simply, with heartbreaking finality, he said, “What makes you think I could ever make you happy, Willow?”
Her response died on her lips as her breath froze in her lungs. A tear escaped her lashes and rolled down her cheek. Tugging her hand free of his grasp, she reached up and swiped the moisture away. “Maybe you can’t. Maybe you’re no longer the boy I fell in love with.”
He froze. It was the first time she’d confessed her feelings to him, and she vowed it would be the last. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t stand here and beg him to love her back—to give them a chance. Turning away, she raced down the hall, her steps quickening as he shouted at her to stop. This was over. She had nothing left to say.
Regan was livid. What the fuck was that? You don’t tell someone you’re in love with him and then run away. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. Wasn’t that exactly what his mother had done? Told him she loved him, sent him off to school, and she was gone before he got home. He’d vowed that day he would never love another person again. It was too fucking painful. He would never give someone else that kind of power to hurt him, and he’d been doing a damn good job of it—until Hurricane Willow.
Holy shit . . . what a fucking disaster! His head reeled. Surely, she didn’t mean it. She’d been upset; she’d spoken in haste. She had to be messing with him. Of all the guys Willow Scott should be falling for, he was the last choice. For crissake, he was her family’s charity case, the poor abused kid everyone felt sorry for—the pathetic son of an alcoholic bastard who had no food to eat and no safe place to lay his head at night. What the hell was there to love about that?
He wasn’t boyfriend material. She had to know that. Even he knew it—not that it had stopped him from wanting her, but he’d been doing a damn good job of ignoring those urges. He did not need her upsetting the juggling act he’d been playing with his mind, his will, and his emotions.
He’d meant it when he’d said he couldn’t make her happy. What did he know about being a decent boyfriend? His father had been drunk more than he’d been sober. He’d cheated on his mother every chance he got, and he’d beaten the shit out of them both on a regular basis. So yeah, he had nothing to emulate—nothing to offer her—even if her brother wasn’t a big fucking obstacle in the middle of their path.
But apparently, that wasn’t going to stop him from having it out with her, because before Regan knew it, his feet were in motion. “Willow!”
She ignored him, quickening her pace until she was hustling at a run for the doors. She was upset, not that he blamed her. Hell, he was upset. But he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that this was a pivotal moment in their relationship—and he was fucking it up.
“Willow, wait!” Regan took off down the hall after her. But the time it had taken him to engage his legs and his brain cost him a few precious seconds he didn’t have to spare. As he burst out the doors and into the parking lot, he caught view of Willow tearing past him, tires squealing. The scent of burned rubber stung his nose as she headed down the street.
“Dammit!” He spun around to head back to the gym and get his keys, but stopped short when he found himself face-to-face with the bastard who was to blame for all this. “What the fuck are you smiling at?”
Disco crossed his arms over his meaty chest and arched his pierced brow in amusement. “Kill know you got it bad for his baby sis?”
“Piss off, Disco. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he grumbled, brushing past him. But the fighter caught his arm. By the feel of that grip, he had no intention of letting Regan go until he spoke his piece.
“Oh, yeah? Dude, I get that fucking look from guys all the time. I know jealousy when I see it, and that green-eyed monster is riding you hard, my friend.”
They were friends. Damn good friends. And that was the only thing keeping Regan from slamming his fist into the cocky bastard’s face.
“For the record, I’m not interested in Willow like that. She’s like a little sister to me, and if you don’t get your shit under control, Kill ain’t the only fighter here who’s going to be breathing down your neck. You got me?” Disco released him with a shove.
Yeah, he got the message loud and clear. He’d behaved like a jealous prick in that locker room, and Disco was calling him out on it. Looked like he was fucking up relationships left and right today.
So much for reclaiming her heart. That plan had lasted for a whole four hours before she was spilling her guts to Regan. What had come over her? Had she honestly expected him to stand there and tell her he loved her back?
Well, maybe some part of her had hoped he would, but then she’d seen the shocked, horrified expression on his face, and it quickly became glaringly obvious that wasn’t going to happen. So, she’d bailed. Humiliated and heartbroken, Willow dragged her palms over her damp cheeks and dried her hands on her jeans before picking up her phone to text Carson.
There was no way she could go to dinner with him now, not like this. She’d had no business making plans with him in the first place. She just wasn’t ready to start dating right now. But one thing she knew with absolute certainty: if she ever wanted to get there, if she ever had any hope of breaking this hold Regan had on her, she was going to have to start avoiding him. Seeing him all the time was just keeping the wound in her heart open and bleeding.
Her phone began buzzing in her hand, and she glanced down at the caller ID. She was done doing this with him—starting right now. Willow swiped her thumb over the screen, rejecting Regan’s call, and tossed her cell onto the passenger seat. She was almost home and decided to wait until she was parked before calling Carson to cancel. Her phone began vibrating on the seat again, and she cranked up the radio, drowning out her cell. By the time she pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, she had four missed calls from Regan. Oh, so now he had something to say? Sorry—it was too late.
She checked her texts to get Carson’s number and saw she’d missed a message from him.
Looking forward to spending some time together without Bartholomew around. He’s a real killjoy.
She almost laughed.
I’m sorry. But I’m going to need a rain check. It’s been a tough day.
She wasn’t expecting his immediate reply.
&nbs
p; I’m a good listener. Maybe not as good as ol’ Bart, but I definitely smell better. ;)
That’s debatable.
Ouch . . . you dump me and insult me. Not sure how much more my ego can take.
I’m sure your ego will be just fine.
You’re probably right. Let me pick you up anyway and we’ll hang out. Just friends. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I never have trouble thinking of things to say.
Shocker there . . . Did she want to do this? Not really. But what was her alternative? She couldn’t very well sit there tonight while Regan and Kyle hung out. It was too awkward. She’d never be able to pull off normal. Kyle would see right through her. And the way Regan was blowing up her cell, he would probably insist on trying to talk to her. It would be better if she was gone before he got here.
All right. But just as friends. I have to leave my brother the car. His wasn’t ready yet. Can you pick me up right now?
Sure. Text me your address and I’ll see you in a few minutes.
Willow sent him her address, then ran inside to tell Kyle she was meeting up with her lab partner this evening.
Regan exhaled a sigh of relief when he pulled up to Kyle’s house and found Willow’s car in the driveway. She wasn’t answering his calls, and he was starting to worry. She’d never been this upset with him before, never refused to talk to him, and the panic that lit in his veins was an unwelcome experience.
Goddammit, why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone? Why did she have to say that to him and put him in a position of choosing between her and his best friend? Kyle was the only guy he’d always trusted to have his back, and Willow was mad at Regan for refusing to jeopardize that? She was being unreasonable and selfish, and he was going to tell her just that the moment he got her alone.
Regan parked behind her car, purposefully blocking her in so she couldn’t run from him this time. They were having it out once and for all. He was done tiptoeing around this thing between them. Whatever it was, she was going to have to get over it. And as for him, well . . . he’d been dealing with it this long. Why the hell stop now?
Feeling good and self-righteously pissed off, he climbed out of the Camaro and stormed up to the house. After throwing open the front door, he marched inside.
“Willow!”
He didn’t expect her to answer him and was headed for her bedroom when Kyle’s voice stopped him cold.
“She ain’t here, man.”
His gaze cut through the living room to the stairway just as Kyle hit the landing.
Fuck. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the shop, working on your car.”
His friend glanced at his watch, then back at him. “Thought you had training till six?”
“I left early. Where’s Willow?”
Kyle tensed, his brows tightening with suspicion. “Why? What’d she do this time?”
It wasn’t lost on him that Kyle automatically assumed Willow was to blame for whatever infraction had Regan so pissed off. The guy wasn’t naïve or blind to his sister’s willfulness. He knew she was a handful. If his friend had any idea how many guys Regan had hunted down over the years and put the fear of God into . . .
Kyle muttered a frustrated curse, dragging his hand through his dark hair. “You’re always trying to cover for her. If she’s in trouble—”
“She isn’t. I just want to talk to her.”
After a few drawn-out seconds of studying Regan, Kyle said, “I know what this is about.”
Regan’s gut tightened. Keeping his expression locked down, he stared his friend dead in the eye. “You do?”
“Yeah, she talked to me about it this morning. Said she was going to tell you when she was ready, but I didn’t think she’d do it so soon.”
“She did?”
And he wasn’t eating Kyle’s fist right now, because . . . ?
“Uh-huh, and I think it’s a horrible mistake.”
And there was the rub. Great, well, he already knew that, but hearing it come from his best friend’s mouth stung more than he wanted to admit. A part of him had always wanted to be good enough—good enough for Kyle’s friendship, good enough for his family, good enough for Willow. He could do without his friend reiterating the obvious—he wasn’t.
It didn’t matter how many fights he won or how much money he raked in. He would always be the trailer-park-trash son of a drunken bastard, unworthy of even his mother’s love. If she’d cared anything for him, she would have saved him from the hell that had been his existence for the first eighteen years of his life.
Regan exhaled a sigh and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I know it’s a mistake. Don’t you think I tried to tell her that?”
“But she won’t listen.”
“Of course she won’t. She’s Willow.” Regan began to pace the living room. He had to admit he’d expected Kyle to be a hell of a lot more freaked out at the prospect of Regan hooking up with his little sister than this.
“She’s not going to change her mind. I tried to talk her out of it. She’s going to petition Campoli’s parole hearing.”
Wait, what? It took Regan a second to realize they were having two very different conversations here. “Hold up. Willow’s going to do what?” So, that explains the news coverage last night. Holy hell, it’s starting all over again.
“Yeah, I thought you knew? What were you talking about? Fuck, I told her I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Too damn bad. Why would she hide this from me?” Regan resumed pacing, double-timing it. Now he really needed to talk to her. What the fuck is she thinking?
“Probably for the same reason she didn’t tell me. If this is what I looked like, then I can see why. Shit man, you’re giving me the heebie-jeebies. You look like you’re ready to kill someone.”
“You can’t let her do it. She’s worked too hard to put her life back together—to put this behind her. If she petitions the court, it’s going to drag all that shit back up again.”
“I know. But I can’t stop her. She feels like she owes it to Mom and Dad to keep their killer behind bars. And after what that fucker did to her . . . I hope they let him out. I’ve been waiting five fucking years to get my hands on that son of a bitch.”
“You and me both. I’ll try to talk some sense into her.”
“I thought that’s what you were doing.”
“It is . . . I am. Where is she?”
“She’s with her A&P lab partner. I think they’re studying for some big test or something.”
“That test was today. And you know her lab partner is a guy, right?”
He could tell by the expression on Kyle’s face that the answer to that question was no. Regan’s gut clenched, too late to deflect the sucker punch of truth knocking the air from his lungs. What in the hell was she doing? Running into the arms of some other guy just waiting in the wings to swoop in and soothe her hurt feelings? Fuck him . . . she didn’t waste any time, did she?
No wonder she wasn’t taking his calls. She was out with another guy. Jealousy lit through his veins like an insidious poison, feeding the possessive streak roaring inside him—the beast he struggled to control daily. The alpha in him rose swift and strong, eager to claim the truth Regan had been hard-pressed to deny. Willow Scott was his.
“So, what’s his name?” Carson took a bite of pizza and thoughtfully chewed as he waited for her to respond.
Willow stared across the table at him, her own bite almost sticking in her throat as she forced it down. “I’m sorry. What’s whose name?” Ah, hell—is it that obvious?
“Please, I know that look, Willow,” he teased, giving her a wicked grin she was sure not many women were immune to. “I invented that look. They call it ‘The Carson.’”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Broke that many hearts, have you?”
He shrugged. “A few. Sadly, I don’t think yours is going to be on that list.”
She shook her head. “Sorry. Someone else already beat you to i
t.”
“Oh well, I tried.”
“It was a good effort. You are rather charming when you’re not dissecting Bartholomew.”
Carson’s throaty chuckle made her smile. See, why couldn’t she be into this guy? He was hot, amusing, and obviously into her. Fate was a cruel bitch sometimes.
“Good one.” He reached across the table and presented his fist for a bump.
She knocked knuckles with him and said, “But seriously, thanks for talking me into coming out. It seems like I’m either studying or working these days. Not a lot of free time to relax, you know?”
“Oh, I know. Premed is killing me.” He took another bite of pizza.
“But you must love it, right? It takes a lot of dedication.”
“My dad loves it, my grandpa loved it, and his father before him loved it. Me? Not so much.”
“You don’t want to be a doctor?”
“I don’t want to be cut off. My parents are loaded.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “They’re paying for my college, and the idea of living on the streets doesn’t exactly hold a lot of appeal, you know?”
Wow. She’d misjudged this book by its cover. “So, what do you want to do?”
He looked at her kinda funny, as if no one had ever bothered to ask him that question before. Then he thought about it a moment and said, “If I could do anything I wanted? I think I’d want to be an MMA fighter. It’d be awesome to kick someone’s ass and make bank for it.”
She laughed at his skewed perception of the sport. “You know it’s not that easy, right?”
“I know. I was just kidding. I’ve been interested in MMA for a long time. When I get any free time, I’m usually at the gym. It’s a great outlet for stress.”
“You know my brother’s a fighter for the CFA?” she said, taking another bite of her pepperoni with extra cheese. She usually made it a point not to tell people that. They often treated her differently once they knew. The girls fan-girled and wanted to become her new best friend in hopes of getting close to her brother, and the boys often began avoiding her like she had the plague. But since this was a legitimate topic of interest for Carson, she didn’t see the harm in bringing it up. It wasn’t like they were going to get involved or anything.
Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 5