by Nelson, Cara
Far from seeming intimidated, the woman rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone, tapping on it to cue up a photo. She slid it across the lopsided table, and it stopped in front of him with a picture of a little girl’s soccer photo on the screen. She looked about eleven or twelve, with dark hair in a ponytail. She was all lanky limbs, broad shoulders, and had the unmistakable dimples and the nearly iridescent blue eyes he himself had inherited from his mother. Those could be the Capisci eyes, just like the wide shoulders and the height, and maybe God help her, the kidney disease might come from his mother’s side. It was like a blow to his solar plexus.
“You come in here like this with a picture of some kid—” Kyle snatched the phone off the table and threw it, not even flinching when it hit the wall across the room. The screen shattered audibly.
“Your kid,” she corrected, “Olive Delany.”
“Olive? Why the fuck would you name a kid Olive?”
“After my grandmother, the one who took me in when I was nineteen years old and knocked up by a bareknuckle boxer,” she snapped.
“Look, ten years ago, I was in high school. I would’ve been seventeen years old, Ashley. So there’s zero chance this, like, twelve-year-old in the picture is my kid.”
“You were fighting at Swagger back then, saying you were eighteen to be allowed in the ring. You can argue all you want—it’s your kid. And she’s sick.”
“If she’s mine, and that’s one hell of a big IF, why didn’t you come to me and tell me back then?”
“I had a thing for bad boys, but I wasn’t stupid enough to go for a shotgun wedding to one. Did I want my baby growing up with a dad who beats people up for a living? Maybe you would’ve beat me up, or said I was a slut and it wasn’t yours. Kind of like you’re doing now.”
“What do you want from me? Money? Guilt?”
“Here’s my number.” She passed him a sticky note with writing on it. “When I get my phone replaced, since you BROKE IT, you can call me and apologize. What I want from you is medical history, like I told you.”
“She seemed fine in the picture, playing sports and all,” he challenged, “so try another angle or go shake down some other guy who may have screwed you a decade ago. I don’t care if your kid or whoever that was a picture of has blue eyes. You will get nothing from me. Nothing.”
Kyle turned over his chair as he stalked out of the club, mad as hell. He stuffed the check in his pocket, unlocked the used Chevy he was still paying off, and parked in front of the liquor store a block down from the self-defense school. He cashed his check at the register and treated himself to a bottle of Jack—celebrating his win, he told himself, nothing to do with that crazy woman and some kid who looked kind of like his mom.
When he let himself into the apartment, Zoe and Aaron were snuggled up on the couch, watching some old movie that he was sure had to be Zoe’s idea. He nodded to them and took the bottle into his room.
He uncapped it and took a long pull right out of the bottle. He told himself he was only drinking to celebrate, for fun. Except this wasn’t fun. This was him needing a drink after a hard night, and it looked suspiciously familiar.
That’s not my kid. I’m not a drunk. Nothing that happened tonight changes a goddamned thing, he told himself. Gripping the neck of the bottle, he swung it at the mirror, smashing his grim reflection into bright shards, the tinkle of glass crashing to the floorboards making an oddly musical sound. He stood there, broken bottle in his hand, whiskey dripping onto his boots, and shook his head.
“You okay?” Aaron called.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just doing some redecorating. Don’t mind me,” he called back lightly.
His phone rang. He dropped the broken bottle into the rubble around his feet and fished out his phone.
“Hi, Ma.” he said with an easy smile.
“I thought you’d still be awake, son. I just wanted to make sure you’ve not forgotten our breakfast plans. How’s my eldest tonight?”
“Surprised to find you up so late, darlin’, everything okay?” he said.
“There was a good movie on Lifetime. It just went off. They got the babies unswitched and the court case turned out just fine,” she said.
“Ah, that’s good to hear now. Anything new with you?”
“I’m feeling fine, if that’s what you’re fishing for. I’m drinking my water and watching that woman you hired to clean so she doesn’t steal from me.”
“She’s not going to steal from you, Ma. Her aunt goes to church with us, remember?”
“Going to church doesn’t mean you’re above reproach, you know,” she cautioned. “So what have you been doing this fine evening?”
“I had a date. Don’t get excited, she wasn’t my type at all.”
“Too skinny?”
“Too crazy, but also too skinny, now that you mention it,”
“Are you all right, boy? You sound like death. Rough night?”
“No, all is well, Ma. Nothing to report here.” He winced a little at the lie that came fluidly to his tongue. “I’ll be along to take you to breakfast tomorrow. Anyplace you choose.”
“Then I’ll be wanting pancakes.”
“Strawberries and whipped cream, too?” he said, smiling. God it was good to hear his mother sounding so strong.
“The only way to have them, of course. I’ll see you then.”
“Crafty of you to call and make sure I was home by eleven.”
“Didn’t want to work up all that enthusiasm for pancakes only to have you skip out on me at the last moment to nurse a hangover,” she teased.
“I’d never!”
“You have more than once, you cheeky boy. Good night.”
CHAPTER TWO, BOSTON, SHEA
Shea hung around after the Saturday afternoon class, hoping for another shot with Kyle. He hadn’t called on her to do a demonstration or said anything remotely personal to her in the last two classes she’d attended. She did think she knew how to get out of a headlock now, but being unable to get his attention was frustrating. She’d considered faking a bad leg cramp to see if he’d come over to her, all concerned, and rub her leg. She decided to save the cheap theatrics for next week.
She started to think she was going to have to haul Sydney, the cute redhead, out of the gym by her ponytail and send her on her way. Shea had been playing on her phone for twenty minutes, trying to look absorbed in her game of popping colorful bubbles. She was on level twenty-three and starting to feel like her IQ was dropping from playing it. At last, Sydney departed with a bounce to her ponytail and a switch in her walk that made Shea feel impossibly old for twenty-five.
“Kyle, do you have a minute?” she asked with her most winning smile.
“Sure, what can I do for you, lass?” His eyes sparkled mischievously.
“You just seemed off today. Are you okay?”
Kyle looked at her strangely, and she felt awkward having mentioned it. “I’m right as rain,” he said with a brittle laugh.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. It’s like you’re trying. Usually you have that effortless charm thing going on that makes it hard to stay cynical around you. I just wanted to check on you. I’m a nurse. Blame it on the training,” she shrugged, a little embarrassed.
“It was sweet of you to be concerned, especially since you stuck around long enough for Sydney to get bored, just to ask me that. I’m fine, really.”
“Were you waiting for her to leave, too?” she asked.
“A gentleman would never suggest that he was bored with a lady,” he said.
“Fair enough, but that wasn’t all I wanted to ask you. I wondered—and I’m sure you get this all the time, like every single day—but would you like to go out for coffee some time?” She waited and stared at him during the radio silence when he should have responded. “Dolan? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Ah, yes. I’ve got a bit on my mind, I guess. What were you saying?”
“I asked you out for coffee, but ma
ybe it’s not a good time, since you seem really…distracted. I don’t know what’s up with you, but here’s my number if you decide to come back down to earth.” She shouldered her bag and stomped out, feeling upset.
She dialed a number on her phone. “Hey, Zoe? I struck out. I was really starting to like him. I went to three self-defense classes working up the nerve to ask him out, and then he actually didn’t even answer me—” Her voice shook a little, sounding tearful.
“I’m sorry, babe. I thought you had a shot with him.”
“Wow. That didn’t make me feel any better. Say that again, but nicer and with a pitcher of margaritas next time.”
“I know it’s a blow to the ego. Maybe he’ll change his mind. He hasn’t been out of fighting that long, so he hasn’t adjusted to life without ring bunnies throwing themselves at him. He’s going to have to make an effort now that he’s not a fighter anymore. Give him time.”
“I’ve given him three classes. I quit. He’s hot, but he’s officially too much trouble. I should feel awesome after doing three exercise classes in one week. I should feel invincible. Instead, I feel like crap, like the clubfoot spinster in one of those weird old movies you watch. That was so embarrassing. I kept on sparring in class when I had to pee because I didn’t want to walk off and have him think I was going to check my messages or something. I damn near peed my pants for that man, and this is the thanks I get.”
“Well, you demonstrated impressive bladder control, at least. I’m sorry he didn’t go for you. Want me to put in a good word at home tonight?”
“No I do not want you to play Yenta for me. I’m just going to assume my karma sucks and call it quits. All that exercise was taking up my TV time anyways.”
“Fine, call me tomorrow after your shift, okay?”
“I do have a shift tomorrow, don’t I. Good opportunity to get back in the swing of picking up guys at work. At least it’s convenient. Bye,” Shea said, shuffling morosely to her car.
She was taking her scrubs out of the dryer at the Laundromat down from her apartment when she got a text from Kyle.
RU busy?
That depends. Is this a booty call?
8PM is 2 early for a booty call.
I’m folding laundry.
RU willing to give that up 2 have a beer with me?
Maybe. Will you pay attention?
U were right. I got shit going on but I want 2 get 2 know u.
Fine. Meet me in 20 at Albert’s.
CU thr.
Shea yanked her laundry out of the machine and hustled upstairs with the basket, shucked off her sweats, and wriggled into her skinny jeans and a pair of boots. It was almost too warm for boots, but she knew her ass looked fabulous in those jeans, and she wasn’t about to wear high heels to a bar on a first date. She tugged on a shimmery gray top and put on the silver hoop earrings she borrowed from Zoe and never returned. She pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair and shook it so it looked tousled. She added berry lipstick, in hopes it would make her mouth look ripe and kissable, like the package had promised. So far, no one had been unable to resist her ripe, kissable lips when she wore it, but it was worth a try.
Albert’s was the bar nearest her apartment. There were peanut shells on the floor and country on the jukebox, and they had an excellent corned beef sandwich. She hoped the laid-back atmosphere would keep her from launching across the table and jumping the boxer.
It didn’t matter if he’d retired from the Irish stand-down; he was still a bare knuckle fighter. She’d watched enough movies with Stallone, Russell Crowe, and Daniel Day-Lewis as boxers to find that high-testosterone pugilism incredibly attractive. She’d even harbored a tiny, unmentionable crush on Hilary Swank after Million Dollar Baby. It was a manly role, she’d told herself, but Zoe had teased her mercilessly for saying that the guy on that poster looked hot, only to find out it was a woman. She was just deciding not to mention that embarrassing little tidbit when she saw Kyle Dolan walk in.
The man honest to God took her breath away. The heavy musculature of his fighter’s torso was visible through the light t-shirt that clung to him as he moved. Shea blinked her eyes hard, as if to clear a mirage from her vision. But still, he came toward her: gorgeous eyes an almost unearthly blue, a full lower lip she wanted to bite, the shade of a day’s beard growth along his square jaw. Her palms itched to feel the rasp of his five o’clock shadow under her hands. She swallowed hard.
“Glad you made it,” he said with that broad, open smile that so disarmed her.
“I was surprised you called.”
“I wasn’t. I always expected to call you for this to happen.”
“What?”
“From the day you stood outside the gym watching me work out, I knew I’d get your number, and I knew I’d use it.”
“Awfully arrogant of you to say so. That’s tantamount to saying I’m easy.”
“I don’t know what tantamount means, but I’m pretty confident that you’re actually difficult as hell. Nothing easy about you,”
“First sensible thing you’ve said. Sorry, ‘tantamount’ is one of those Zoe words I picked up from living with her so long. Now tell me what brings us here, besides the obvious ambience.”
“Is there going to be a vocab quiz at the end of the night? Because I suck at those. I dropped out of SAT prep. It was like learning another language.”
“I doubt you’ve had much need for SAT vocabulary in your line of work.”
“It’s been wicked hard not getting what’s left of my brains beat out, if that’s what you mean.”
“I mean it isn’t a verbally intensive occupation. You do most of your talking with your fists.”
“I’m a physical guy. Always have been. Talking didn’t get me nowhere with the boys in Mattapan growing up. They only understood when I used my hands.”
“Had to fight off the bullies? Is that how this started?”
“I protect my own. I had a little brother to look out for. I guess I was one of the bullies.” He ran his hand over his shaved head, an adorably sheepish look taking the sting out of his statement.
“Beating up kids and taking their lunch money?”
“It was more intimidation. Kept them clear of the girls I liked, made sure I had a good parking spot,” he said unapologetically.
“Nice. You’d do great in the mob, then.”
“Nah, I was small time. Plus, the entire Mafia was kicked out of the church. If it ain’t okay with the Pope, it ain’t okay with me.”
“So the pontiff is cool with you beating people up for petty cash?”
“It’s a sport. We fight fair; it’s completely respectable. I’m sure the Holy Roman Church is on board.”
“I think you need to skim your Bible again, Rocky.”
“I hate that movie.”
“There’s more than one. There were a bunch of them.”
“Bunch of little boys in shiny pants and bitch mittens slapping each other around and acting like a little busted lip is the end of the world.”
Shea burst out laughing. “Did you just say ‘bitch mittens’?”
“Yeah. Boxing gloves, in layman’s terms.”
“Bitch mittens. That is ridiculous. And at the same time, it would be a great name for, like, a band.”
He laughed along with her. “So could their greatest hits album be called Shiny Shorts?”
“No, I think Our Best Mittens by the Bitches would be more appropriate.”
“The three little bitches lost their mittens? That could be the debut album,” he said.
“With their new twist on a holiday classic, ‘Bitches, It’s Cold Outside’!” she chimed in and toasted him with her beer bottle.
“I think this is what I needed, Shea,” Kyle said, raising his beer bottle in salute.
“That’s what I thought when I saw you working that heavy bag over last week.”
“And why is that?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Because you’re my type.”
“Big and strong. Alpha and uncomplicated.”
“Straight up sex?”
“Pretty much.”
“So who’s the guy who broke your heart?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The only women I ever met who were out for a fling had been trashed by some guy and decided men were only good for one thing.”
“Nobody broke my heart. It’s mine, and I have no intention of giving it away. I nursed too many friends through too many breakups to see the appeal of a long term relationship.”
“Jaded by association?”
“Consider it a healthy skepticism that came from tending the victims. If you knew that drinking the water someplace had a high chance of making you so sick you wished you were dead, would you drink it?”
“No.”
“That’s my point.”
“What does water have to do with a one-night stand?”
“It’s a metaphor, Danny Boy,” she said. “Zoe told me that Aaron was surprisingly articulate for a fighter. Said your mom read a lot and you must’ve picked up the way she talked. I’m guessing she didn’t go in for figurative language, though.”
“I’m ninety percent sure you’re making fun of me right now.”
“Make it a hundred. Of course I’m making fun of you. If I don’t, you have too much power, sitting there looking the way you do, miles out of my league and arrogant as Satan. It’s up to me to take you down a notch or two. It levels the playing field.”
“If I called you dumb, it would be sexist, though,”
“No, if you called me dumb it would be inaccurate,” she teased.
“I’m not dumb either.”
“I know that. I’m just picking on you because I’m nervous, Dolan.”