Marcus went back to whatever he was reading, and she grabbed a couple of the boxes from the corner. They were heavier than she expected, so she could only manage two at a time. Willow could barely see over the top box as she made her way down the hall toward the cadence of Cole Easton’s booming voice. She winced, half-tempted to turn around and head back down the administrative hall where she could sneak out the back.
He’d come home from Wisconsin late last week, presumably for Aiden’s fight, and was helping him train. Time had healed his fractured spine, but sadly, it had done little to mend his personality. He still wasn’t in fighting condition, but the improvements he’d made with his therapist had been nothing short of miraculous. There had been rumors flying around the gym the past few days about Cole and his therapist having some sort of falling-out. It sounded like he was in another one of his moods, and if people were smart, they’d cut him a wide berth.
Her initial excitement at having Cole home and walking again was quickly overshadowed by his rancorous disposition. Something was wrong with him. This was not the same fighter she knew and loved. Everyone was on eggshells around him—even Marcus. Poor Aiden, he couldn’t get away from the guy. Cole was cornering him in his fight against Mallenger tonight, so for the past few days they’d been hitting it from sunup to sundown. No doubt Aiden was going to win this fight—if Cole didn’t kill him first.
Willow felt her boxes begin to slip and stopped, hefting them with her knee to keep them from dropping, but she could no longer see where she was going. As she readjusted the load, it was suddenly lifted from her hands.
“Need a hand, Scott?”
Willow’s visual obstruction was cleared, and she found Carson grinning down at her. “What are you doing here?” She cast an anxious glance around for Regan, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate her lab partner showing up here out of the blue.
“Thought I’d take you up on your offer to show me around.”
That wasn’t exactly how she remembered that conversation going. She’d offered to introduce him to Kyle and let him give the guided tour—she’d never suggested he drop by unannounced.
“Where you headed with these?” he asked, propping the boxes under his arm like they didn’t weigh a ton.
“Um . . . my car. I need to take them down to The Mirage.”
Carson did an about-face and followed her toward the main training area of the gym. They’d have to pass through the octagons to get to the door. Shit, this was going to be bad. She led the way at a determined clip, hoping—praying—no one would notice them as they passed by. Once they made it to the parking lot, she’d explain to Carson that now was not a good time—that she’d set something up with her brother to meet him maybe next week. With Aiden’s fight tonight, everyone was here. The gym was a hum of energy and testosterone. Another time would be better.
Her pulse quickened with the finish line in sight, and those double doors never looked better. Almost there. Then “Willow!” boomed across the gym. Willow was forced to stop when Carson’s steps ground to a halt. It took about two seconds for Regan to storm across the gym and command the attention of every fighter in there.
Regan stopped short, too close for comfort. Then again, anything within striking distance was too close as far as she was concerned. He was wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts, and the tension radiating off him made him appear even larger. “What’s he doing here?”
“Willow invited me.” Judging from Carson’s shit-eating grin, Willow could tell he knew he was baiting Regan and enjoying every minute of it. Stupid mistake . . .
“To meet Kyle,” she rushed to explain, not sure anything was going to save this moment from happening, but she had to try. “Carson’s interested in MMA—”
Regan’s brow arched in amusement, his vibrant green eyes sweeping over Carson, taking his measure. “You fight?”
“I dabble a little.”
“I told him he could come down sometime and Kyle would show him around.”
“Kill’s busy. But I got some time to get in the cage with you.”
Oh, no . . . “Regan, don’t.”
“Don’t what, Willow? I didn’t realize you were recruiting for Coach now. Let’s see what kind of a talent scout you are.”
Okay, now he was just being a dick. It was a side of him Willow rarely saw, though she knew it existed. But when courted, Regan had a ferocious temper that rivaled her brother’s. She wondered if it stemmed from all the abuse in his childhood and the undealt-with issues he worked so hard to bury beneath the surface of calm and controlled—until he wasn’t.
“All right.”
Willow’s head snapped toward Carson. Was this guy crazy? Regan would kill him! But before her brain could engage her mouth, her boxes were on the ground and Carson was following Regan toward an empty cage. They stopped at Regan’s locker, and he tossed Carson a spare set of gloves, a mouth guard still in its package, and some headgear.
“What about you?” Carson asked when Regan didn’t don the same safety equipment.
“I’m not going to need it.”
Carson bared his teeth in what didn’t quite pass for a grin and shot back, “You sure about that?”
“Just get in the fucking cage, Romeo.”
Dabbles a little my ass . . . Carson could fucking fight. He wasn’t a pro, and Regan still had to pull his punches to keep from seriously hurting the guy. He wasn’t so stupid as to injure the opportunistic prick so he could gain sympathy points from Willow. But the guy had talent Regan didn’t realize he’d be showcasing when he’d invited this asshole into the cage.
As they sparred a crowd began to gather. Soon there were shouts going up, cheers for well-connected strikes and on-target kicks from both sides—and advice barked at the rookie. Whose fucking side were these dickheads on, anyway? Regan dialed down his skill set to match that of his opponent. No way was he going to look like the douche bag who unfairly kicked this guy’s ass. And this way he could prolong the torment.
“Raps is holding way back,” Disco told Willow, who stood beside him, looking a cross between horrified and ferociously pissed off. “Don’t worry about your boyfriend, baby girl. Matthews won’t mess him up too bad.”
Willow shot a glare at Kruze for his unwanted advice, then turned her attention back to the cage.
At hearing Disco calling Carson Willow’s boyfriend, jealousy rose inside Regan like a beast. He wasn’t proud of it, but when it came to Willow, none of his emotions were under his control. Regan sent a well-placed jab into Romeo’s jaw, not hard enough to knock him out but hard enough to rock him a bit.
Willow gasped. Yeah, there were going to be some ruffled feathers to soothe over after this one, but totally fucking worth it. This guy needed to get the message loud and clear that Willow was his.
A few more minutes passed of shouts and cheering and then the booming demand of “What in the hell is going on?” Then, “Why the fuck is Raps in the cage with that guy? Cole, why the hell didn’t you stop this?” Coach demanded.
Easton crossed his arms over his chest, and they exchanged a look that told Regan all wasn’t cool on the home front with those two. “Why should I?” he challenged. “Raps wants to blow off some steam, I say let him.”
“My fighters don’t get in the cage with wannabes. You know that!”
“This wannabe’s got some talent, Coach.”
Of course Kruze would pipe up for Team Cocksucker.
“He just looks good ’cuz Regan’s toying with him,” Kill chimed in. “Finish it, Raps!”
“Don’t you go finishing a goddamn thing!” Coach bellowed. “I ain’t got insurance for this shit! You boys are going to be the death of me!”
That earned Coach a chuckle from the peanut gallery before they turned their attention back to the cage and began hooting and hollering for the submission they wanted Regan to put this guy in. Enough of this. He shot in for Carson’s hips and lifted him off the ground before body slamming him into the mat. Within s
econds, he had Willow’s puppy in a Kimura and tapping out.
Cheers went up, congrats all around, but unfortunately, Carson had scored some huge points with the guys for having the balls to step into the cage with Regan “Rapscallion” Matthews.
Un-fucking-believable . . .
Chapter 11
Willow, wait.”
She wasn’t moving nearly so fast with her arms loaded down with boxes. Regan caught up to her halfway across the parking lot and darted in front of her, forcing her to stop.
“What do you want?” she snapped, exhaling a frustrated sigh. “Some of us have to work here.”
He took the boxes from her and tucked them under his arm. “Didn’t look like you were working when your puppy came by to see you.”
“Don’t call him that!” She punched Regan in the arm. “And, by the way, you’re a dick when you’re jealous.”
“Can’t help it. The idea of you with some other guy . . . it drives me crazy—especially that guy.”
“What’s wrong with Carson?”
What wasn’t wrong with Carson? The guy was good-looking and educated, he reeked of money, and he hobbied as an MMA fighter. He was the antithesis of Regan. He was right up Willow’s alley, but the only guy getting anywhere near this woman’s alley was Regan.
“You’re misjudging his intentions. I told you we’re just friends and he’s interested in MMA. That’s all. You didn’t need to go all alpha on him in there.”
“Don’t worry about your guy. He can hold his own just fine,” Regan grumbled, walking backward toward her car as she started forward.
Willow huffed and rolled her eyes. “He’s not my guy, Regan. You are.”
His step faltered. Holy shit. They were doing this.
“And since we’re on the subject of us, I’m not thrilled about you going to Aiden’s after-fight party tonight. You think I don’t know what goes on there? The cage-bangers throwing themselves at you? I hear all the stories, Raps.” He winced at her snarky use of his nickname. “Rappin’ that ass . . . Rappin’ it up . . . Sir Raps a Lot.”
“That’s enough, Willow.”
“Is it really, Regan? Do you have any idea what that’s like for me?”
Well, he sure as hell did now, and he felt like a man-whoring asshole. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that she’d hear the stories? Did he really think he was keeping his nightlife separate from his personal one? He doubted it would be much of a consolation if he told her he’d done all that trying to get her out of his mind, if only for a little while—to forget what he wanted and could never have.
Setting the boxes on the hood of her car, he cast a quick glance at the gym for the all-clear before taking her hands in his. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Willow. You gotta know that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I promise nothing is going to happen tonight. You’re the only one I want.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Regan. I do. But in all honesty, you don’t exactly have the best track record, and actions speak louder than words.”
“I can’t skip this party. It’s a press event and I’m expected to be there. Hell, I’m required to be there. Besides, I have to support Disco. This is a huge fight for him.”
“I understand. It’s part of your job, just as delivering these boxes and setting up for tonight’s event is my job. I gotta go.”
She was upset. He didn’t blame her, but there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he could do about it right now. The urge to pull her into his arms and prove the truth of his words was a strong temptation. She was the only one he wanted—the only one he’d ever want.
He’d always been able to melt her with just a look, and if Willow didn’t leave right now, she’d be nothing but a puddle out here in the parking lot. Regan looked as if he wanted to say something—do something—but this was not the time or place for it. She was still mad at him, dammit, though it was hard to hang onto that emotion with so many other ones raging inside her.
She hadn’t slept at all last night, too caught up in the what-ifs of what would have happened if Kyle hadn’t come home when he did. Perfect timing or the worst—she couldn’t know. She’d been about to give herself to Regan, which in all truth was only a formality. Emotionally, she’d given herself to him years ago. That he seemed ready to take this step with her, to forsake his values for a chance to be together, both thrilled and filled her with overwhelming guilt.
She knew she’d pressed him to his breaking point. She’d pushed him—perhaps too far. All night and throughout the day, the questions had continued to haunt her. Was this a mistake? Where did this leave them now? Back to pretending they didn’t want each other, that this wasn’t happening? Because it was happening. Would he blame her if Kyle found out? Would Regan resent her for destroying his friendship with her brother? Would he hate himself for living a lie? Because she knew, above all things, Regan prized his integrity, often claiming it was the one thing his old man hadn’t taken from him.
Nothing about them was simple. Nothing about this would be easy, but damn if it didn’t feel so right when they were together. She just needed to get out of here for a while and clear her head. This gym was too crowded. It was too difficult to keep herself from searching Regan out, to stymie her body’s reaction to him. She was afraid the other fighters would notice and someone would say something to Kyle. And once that seed was planted, it wouldn’t take long before it grew into a weed of suspicion.
That was partly why she’d gone to Marcus, offering her help. Of course mostly she wanted to get into the after-party, but she also hoped that that if she could get into the administrative side of the business, it would be easier for both of them. She’d gotten lucky scoring the setup at The Mirage. If she could throw herself into her work, perhaps she’d get lost in the distraction and find a little peace of mind. At the same time, maybe she just might prove to Marcus that he needed her, earning herself a long-overdue promotion.
“You need a hand with those boxes? I could take you to The Mirage and help you get them unloaded.”
“Thanks, but I kinda feel like this is something I need to prove to Coach I can do myself. I’ll see you at the fight tonight.”
Regan nodded and seemed to force himself to take a step back. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
She refused to watch him as he headed back to the gym. As she wrestled the boxes into the backseat, the niggling feeling of being watched pricked her senses. Closing the back door, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and turned to cast a glance back at the gym, expecting to find Regan leaning against the wall, admiring that ass shot, but he wasn’t there. She panned the parking lot, searching for the set of eyes she knew damn well were fixed on her. Finding no one, she shut the door and rounded the car as fine hairs of alarm rose on the back of her neck. Someone was watching her. She knew it.
With one final glancing sweep, she climbed into her car, fired up the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot. It wasn’t until she was halfway to The Mirage that she finally felt that prickly sensation subside. By the time she reached her destination, she’d chalked it up to an overactive sixth sense and remnants of her PTSD. Someday, she promised herself. Someday I will put the past and Sean Campoli behind me.
“This place looks great. Good job, kid.”
“Thanks, Marcus.” Willow was exhausted. She’d spent the afternoon and a good portion of the evening helping set up for the after-party, fielding questions and putting out fires. She’d confirmed with the band and touched base with the caterers and the bartenders. The appetizer menus were complete, and a full bar was stocked and ready to go.
She’d had fun representing Miller MMA and appreciated the mental distraction and time away from the gym to think. It was a lot more enjoyable than washing sweaty towels and sanitizing gym equipment. A part of her was still angry over Regan’s stunt this afternoon. They hadn’t gotten a real opportunity to talk after what had happened between them last night, and she was dying to know where
his head was at. Were they officially seeing each other now? Was this something serious for him, or were they just fooling around and seeing where it went? How long were they going to be able to keep it a secret? It felt dishonest, hiding their possible relationship from Kyle. She hated lying to her brother. They were closer than that, and he deserved better than that, but she held no misconceptions that he would ever be understanding or okay with her and Regan hooking up.
“Where are the T-shirts?” Marcus asked, walking past the promo tables.
“What T-shirts?”
“The Miller MMA T-shirts all the fighters signed.”
“There aren’t any boxes with T-shirts here.”
“You didn’t grab them?”
Shit . . . “I grabbed all the boxes you told me to. No offense, but your office is a flippin’ mess. That place needs to be organized, which is Exhibit A for why you need an assistant.”
“Aw, hell . . . Kruze’s fight is going to start in an hour. I don’t have enough time to get down to the gym and back in time.”
Dammit, she really didn’t want to miss Aiden’s fight, either, but this might be the break she needed to prove to Marcus how invaluable she’d be as his assistant. “I’ll go. Don’t worry. You go be with Aiden, and I’ll make sure the shirts are here.”
His scowl eased into a smile. “Thanks, kiddo. I knew I could count on you. Maybe you’re right, after all, about me needing an assistant. As hectic as things are these days, I’m barely keeping my head above water. Come by the office to see me next week and we’ll talk.”
“Hey, Raps . . .”
“Yeah?” Regan crossed the dressing room to where Disco sat against the wall, hands laced behind his neck. His head was down, elbows resting on bent knees—still as stone. Regan used to think it was nerves that had him so withdrawn before a fight, but after watching Disco unleashed inside the cage, Regan quickly realized it wasn’t that. This was how Kruze centered, how he focused, getting into that mental zone where he stepped out of his head and into total instinct. No doubt about it, he was going to win this fight against Mallenger “The Mauler” tonight.
Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 10