Willow spent the next twenty minutes making her way through the well-wishers while Regan patiently waited for his turn to greet his birthday girl. Easton grabbed a couple of beers and brought one over to him, making camp beside him where he could take it all in from the sidelines. They shot the shit for a while, and Regan was grateful for the distraction. It was fan-fucking-tastic to have him back. Too bad the guy wasn’t staying, but after all the drama he’d been through the past year, he deserved some happiness. And if that meant finding it in Wisconsin with Katie Miller, then so be it.
Willow spotted Regan standing off to the side. Shooting him a bright smile, she began making her way over to him when, from out of nowhere, Romeo cut her off. They were just far enough away that Regan couldn’t hear what the cock-blocker was saying.
“Motherfucker . . . ,” Regan growled into his bottle as he tipped back his beer. “Who in the hell invited Romeo?”
“Saw him come in with her friend. Melanie, I think someone said her name was.” Easton followed Regan’s gaze and chuckled, taking a pull of his bottle. “You got a problem with GQ there, Raps?”
It wasn’t funny, but by the shit-eating grin on Easton’s face, he’d disagree. “I fucking hate that guy,” Regan grumbled, his grip on the bottle tightening.
“You got a thing for Willow, huh?” Easton asked it as casually as if he were inquiring about the weather.
Regan canted his head, pinning him with a hard stare. “Why do you say that?”
“Dude, you look like you’re about to rip that guy’s head off for talkin’ to your girl. And that’s the same expression I get on my face when some asshat starts hittin’ on Katie. I can’t leave her alone for two seconds without some fucking guy sticking to her like flypaper—buzzin’ around, opportunistic motherfuckers.”
“Yeah, well, I’m about to get me a big can of Raid.”
Easton laughed. He took another swig of beer before continuing. “I take it Kill doesn’t know you’re hot for his sis?”
Regan shot him a quick glance before turning his attention back to Willow. She was still talking to Romeo, but her gaze frequently darted in his direction.
“Why do you say that?” Regan asked.
“Because you’re still alive. Fuck man, that is one cookie jar you don’t want to get caught with your hand in.”
“Now you sound like Disco,” he grumbled, taking a sulking swig of his beer.
“Kruze is smart. Don’t let the ink and metal fool ya. Word of advice, if you want to keep your feelings for Willow on the DL, lock that shit up, ’cuz it’s fucking obvious, man. The only reason Kill probably hasn’t figured it out yet is ’cuz you’re flyin’ under his radar. He trusts you.”
Knife in the chest—that’s what this fucking conversation was. “Did I actually say I missed you?” he grouched, draining the bottle.
Easton clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed hard enough to get Regan’s attention. He leaned in closer so as not to be overheard. “I don’t care if you’re fucking her, but don’t you dare fuck her over. You feel me?”
This wasn’t the first warning he’d gotten from his friends—same message, different venue. A part of him wanted to be pissed they’d think so low of him, but then again, he’d earned his reputation and that shit stuck like glue. Were the shoe on the other foot, he’d do the same damn thing.
Regan watched as Romeo handed Willow a small gift bag. The asshole obviously didn’t know about her no-gifts rule. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He said something to her, and she smiled, opening the bag to peer inside. Regan wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t for Willow to bust out laughing.
Now he needed to know what was in that fucking bag. Before Willow could step away, Romeo pulled her in for a hug. Regan tensed, the knot in his gut getting tighter at the sight of her in that bastard’s arms. And when that fucker kissed her cheek, the rage that rocketed through him had his feet moving before he even realized they were in motion.
Easton was fast though, snagging his arm and holding him back. “Think about it, man,” he said under his breath. “You do not want to be the fucking tool that ruins her birthday party. Suck it up and play it cool ’cuz Willow is not the kind of girl that’s gonna appreciate your alpha-male bullshit.”
As much as Regan hated to admit it, Easton was right, and he needed to check it fast because Willow was headed his way.
So, there was zero possibility Regan did not just witness that. They weren’t even fifteen feet apart, and she could feel the burn of his stare searing her flesh. What she couldn’t believe was that Regan managed to stay put instead of barreling ass over to her. But then she glanced his way and got her answer. Cole’s hand was clamped tightly around Regan’s bicep.
She’d been trying to make her way over to him since she’d arrived, but at the last minute she’d been intercepted by Carson. It surprised her to find him here, but then she saw Mel, her best friend since high school, and figured Kyle must have recruited her help in getting everyone invited.
As she walked over to Regan, Cole released him with a parting comment she couldn’t hear and headed toward a cooler filled with ice and beer. Some of the tension eased from Regan, and he gave her a warm smile. Because it was her birthday, she could hug him without anyone thinking twice about it, and she had every intention of taking full advantage of the opportunity. She got closer, then rushed into his arms. He squeezed her back and stood straight, letting her feet dangle in the air as he buried his face into the side of her neck, inhaling deeply.
“Happy Birthday, Willow. I see you’re accepting gifts this year. Good to know because I can’t wait to give you mine.” The suggestive growl in his voice sent a shiver of delicious anticipation skittering up her spine, but there was also an edge in his tone that told her he wasn’t happy about that stunt Carson had pulled.
“If I guess what it is, will you tell me?” she whispered, wiggling closer, hoping to distract him. It was like trying to cuddle a rock. Regan was all hard, muscled fighter, every delectable inch of him.
“You guess it right and I’ll give it to you.”
“Is it big?” she asked sweetly.
“Uh-huh.”
“Is it . . . hard?”
“Very.”
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Will there be a big red bow on it?”
He set her back down and gave her a smile that made her tingle. “Maybe.”
“When will I get it?”
“Whenever you want it.”
Trapping her bottom lip between her teeth, she bit back a groan and shot him a daring grin. “What if I want it right now?”
Cole returned before he could answer, and she took a step back.
“Speaking of presents, what’s in the bag, Willow?”
Regan’s voice was smooth and casual, but she knew he was anything but. He wasn’t fooling her, and by the amused smirk on Cole’s face, the fighter wasn’t buying it, either.
“Regan, it’s not a big deal. Trust me,” she whispered.
“Oh, I trust you. It’s Romeo I don’t trust. What’s in the bag, sweetheart?”
“It’s nothing, really.”
“Then open the bag.” It wasn’t a request. She knew Regan well enough to know when he was done messing around. Not that she could blame him for getting testy. If some woman had handed him a gift bag on his birthday, she’d sure as hell be demanding to see what was inside it. Problem was, once she opened this bag and showed him, she knew Regan was going to be pissed.
Exhaling a huffy sigh, she pulled the handles apart and said, “It’s not what it looks like.”
Regan peered into the bag and then up at her, his absinthe eyes flaring brightly. Cole’s brow arched in curiosity as he peeked over Regan’s shoulder, then muttered, “Oh shit,” under his breath.
“It looks like that asshole just gave my girl a bagful of ChapStick for her birthday.”
“That dude’s got some serious fucking balls.” Cole chuckled. “Either that or a death wi
sh.”
Willow shot him a glare for chiming in with his two cents. Not helping, Cole.
“Doesn’t matter,” Regan growled. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Would you just stop?” Willow snapped, grabbing his arm. “The ChapStick isn’t for me. It’s for Bartholomew.”
“Who?” Regan asked, clearly not remembering who Bartholomew was.
“The cat. He stinks. It’s a joke.”
“You got a cat?” Cole asked her, swigging his beer. “Why does he smell?”
“Because he’s dead.”
“And you’re still keeping it? Damn, Willow, that’s disgusting.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, smartass. It’s for my A&P class. Carson’s my lab partner, and we have to dissect a cat this semester. It stinks, and if I put scented ChapStick under my nose, it helps block the smell.”
“Oh . . .” Cole laughed, knocking Regan in the arm with his beer hand. “That is funny.”
Not so much, but Regan had the sense not to make an ass out of himself and risk ruining Willow’s birthday over it. Perhaps that was the point Easton was trying to make with the let it go look he was nailing him with. Before he could respond, a couple of Willow’s girlfriends found her and carted her back into the crowd. She shrugged, casting him a smile over her shoulder, and then she was gone.
“Come on, man,” Cole said, giving him another nudge. “Let’s see about getting that grill fired up.”
The party seemed to be turning into a big hit, and from the looks of it, Willow was having a great time. Regan couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her laugh or smile so much on her birthday. It warmed his heart to see her genuinely happy. Kyle was right; she needed this—the chance to be surrounded by friends and family and reminded that as painful as the past was, she couldn’t let herself get stuck in it. She still had a whole life ahead of her, a life Regan wanted to spend with her.
Once they had the grill going, the lure of burgers and brats eventually drew everyone to the parking lot. It was just like old times—minus Disco. There was a lot of food and plenty of beer. Romeo cut out early, claiming he had a big exam to study for, which was more than fine with Regan. Dropping the tailgates of Easton’s Ram and Coach’s Tundra, the fighters copped a squat and downed beers while they all bullshitted and watched the girls play a bean-bag-toss game. It was an exercise in pure willpower to keep his gaze from alighting too long on Willow’s gorgeous ass.
“How long you gonna be in Vegas?” Kyle asked Easton.
The guy pulled his reluctant gaze away from Katie, seeming to fare no better than Regan at playing it cool. Of course, he had nothing to hide from the watchful eyes of his friends. “No longer than a week. Katie’s worried about being away from her father very long. He’s still recovering, and she doesn’t want his therapy to backslide. I’ve got an interview I’ve been putting off with ATC. Figure now’s a good time to get that done, and I have some meetings lined up with my sponsors. We’ll head home after that.”
Home. It was going to take some getting used to, hearing the guy refer to some other place as such. They’d been like family for years.
“How’s the shoulder coming along?” Nikko asked, nodding at Easton’s sling.
These were the most words Del Toro had volunteered since he’d arrived. Something was bothering him, but fuck if any of them knew what it was. Ever since he’d gotten back from New York, he’d become even more withdrawn than usual. He had a fight coming up in a few days, and he’d been training hard. Maybe this was just Del Toro being focused.
“It’s coming. Doctors say it’s still too early to tell if I’m going to be able to fight. Katie is confident I will. She’s taking good care of me, so we’ll see.”
It was strange listening to the light-heavyweight champion talk about his future in fighting with such a laissez-faire attitude. There was a time after his accident with De’Grasse that no one could convince him his life wasn’t over if he didn’t step back into that cage. Easton was a testament to what the love of a good woman could do for a man. It could save a life, because just as surely as he’d saved Katie, she had undoubtedly saved him.
“Of course you’re going to fight again,” Coach chimed in as if he wouldn’t hear of it any other way. “Once we get Miller MMA opened in Minneapolis, you should be healed enough to start training again.”
Easton canted his head and saluted Coach, which spurred an all-around bottles-up to the man who was as much a father figure to all of them as he was a coach. As they all took a drink, honoring the guy who was grumping at them to knock it off, Regan’s cell began ringing. He ignored the call. Anyone he could possibly want to talk to was already here in this parking lot.
“You gonna get that?” Kyle asked, nodding toward Regan’s pocket. He hoped to hell the guy didn’t noticed the semi he’d been sporting all night from watching Willow’s ass. Now that everyone was staring at him, it was easier to just answer the damn thing than to field the questions about why he was screening calls. And he was pretty sure he knew who it was. It was the right time of the evening—late enough for his father to be lit, but early enough that he wouldn’t be passed out yet.
After over a month of calling, Regan thought the guy would give up, but the calls kept coming in and Regan still refused to answer them. He had no desire to speak to the man, let alone see him. Kyle had finally gotten off his case about talking to him. Now, if the bastard would just stop calling, that would be real fucking swell. If this shit didn’t stop, he was going to change his number. It wasn’t the first time he’d considered it, but Regan hated the thought of that man having even a shred of influence over him.
Sliding off the tailgate, he palmed his cell and saw the caller ID registered the call coming from University Medical Center. Who in the fuck would be calling him from there? Swiping his thumb across the screen, he walked toward an empty area of the parking lot before answering.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Matthews?”
“Yeah?”
“This is Melody calling from the University Medical Center Emergency Department. Your father, Arthur Matthews, is here. He was brought in by ambulance a little while ago. You’re listed in his chart as next of kin and emergency contact.”
Fan-fucking-tastic . . . Regan exhaled a sigh and dragged his hand through his hair, waiting for the woman to continue.
“He’s quite confused and combative.”
“Is he drunk?” Regan cut in, already knowing the answer.
“Well, yes, but I’m afraid it’s more than that. Your father is unable to make decisions for himself right now, and we need someone here who can speak on his behalf—”
“Listen, lady. I hate to sound like a dick, but if you’ve spent five minutes with that guy, then you know why I’m not there. I haven’t seen him in years, and I’m not sure I’m at all qualified to be speaking on anyone’s behalf, let alone his.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Matthews, but he has no other family. If you could just please come down to the hospital and answer a few questions, we will do our best to take care of your father and get you on your way as soon as possible.”
Aw fuck. Was he seriously going to have to leave Willow’s birthday party to go deal with this piece of shit? Guess so. “I’ll be down there as soon as I can,” he grumbled, disconnecting the call before giving the nurse a chance to respond.
When he turned back around, Willow was heading toward him, wearing a concerned expression on her beautiful face where, just minutes ago, there had been a smile more carefree than he’d seen in a long time. He’d done that—stolen the smile from her. He and his dysfunctional, fucked-up life were about to ruin her birthday party. Well, he wouldn’t let it happen. He’d come up with some excuse to leave. Tamping down the anger and injustice rising inside him, he forced a smile, but it was too late to be convincing. Willow knew him too well.
“Regan, what’s wrong?” she asked before she reached him.
“Nothing,” he denied. “I ju
st gotta go take care of something. That’s all. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”
“Don’t lie to me,” she countered. “Something happened. What is it?”
He didn’t want to lie to her. She deserved better than that. Hell, she deserved better than him. Fuck it. If he didn’t tell her, she’d only worry, and that would ruin her birthday even more. “I got a call from University Medical Center. My father is in the ER, and they need me to come down and answer some questions. Apparently, he isn’t coherent enough to do it himself.”
Her frown deepened. She looked like she wanted to reach out and touch him, but after casting a quick glance to the guys behind him, she must have thought better of it. “I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, I don’t want you to leave your party to deal with my bullshit. And besides, how’s that going to look to Kyle? He’s going to know.”
She worried at her bottom lip. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy, Willow. I’ll text you later. Happy Birthday. I’ll take you out tomorrow for supper and give you your present then.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her good-bye, and he resented the hell out of not being able to do it. The stress of worrying about getting caught, all the lies and deception . . . it was worse than just telling Kyle the truth and getting it over with. Sure, his best friend might hate him, but Regan held out hope that with time he might forgive him, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand this separation from Willow. So far, their whole relationship had been comprised of stolen moments, and he just wanted to be with her without worrying about who might see them and if they would tell Kyle.
She nodded and took a reluctant step back. “All right, let me know how it goes, okay?”
He nodded.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Goddammit, don’t you touch me!”
Regan recognized that voice booming down the hall and flinched. After all these years, the defensive response was still there, and it pissed him off. He was a motherfucking MMA fighter, for crissake, and here he was standing in the hall with sweaty palms and a knot in his gut.
Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 17