by Shannyn Leah
Stone chuckled. “He doesn’t share his booze very well.”
“You two still not seeing eye to eye?”
“He looks at me and sees a career wasted.”
“Maybe you’re mistaking that look. He’s here now, supporting you in something he’s against.”
“I never thought I’d step in a ring again. Especially now.” Now he wished he had a glass of rum. “But I won’t bother you with my petty issues. Tell me about what you’ve been doing. Is there anyone special in your life?”
Chapter Twelve
STONE REACHED FOR the towel hanging on the side of the ring and wiped the sweat off his face.
“Good work.” The trainer Bowie had hired tossed him a bottle of water. “You’re ready for tomorrow’s fight, there’s no doubt. I won’t be around tomorrow, so take it easy before the match. Get your rest.” He nodded at each of the men before he headed up the stairs, to undoubtedly give Bowie an update.
“Take it easy. Get your rest.” Hawk and Slate made harrumph sounds, neither man fond of his trainer. It didn’t matter, this wasn’t a tea party. It was his training.
“Let’s go out,” Hawk jumped from the stool where he sat each day, his legs propped up on the wood dowel, supposedly supporting Stone, when really, he sat around discussing politics with his father. “We’ve been caged up in this basement for days. Good food and entertainment is in order. On me. Get showered, Patino, you’re driving.”
“I’ll pass.” Stone tossed the towel over the ropes of the ring. “I’m gonna hit the hay early.”
He climbed off the ring and his father gripped his shoulder. “Come on son. You have all tomorrow to rest up. Let’s take a break. Eat. You have to eat.”
“Fine. But we aren’t staying out all night.” Ironic, he, the son, had to lay down the rules. After a couple of grunts, Hawk and Slate agreed.
Twenty minutes later the three of them had climbed into Stone’s truck and were headed through the residential area toward downtown Oakston.
“I vote a strip club.” Hawk sat in the back seat and Stone had left his window locked. “Unlock my damn window, Patino.”
“I second that vote.” Slate raised his hand.
There was absolutely no way Stone was going to a strip club with his father. The idea of it gave him the heebe-jeebies. It was just wrong.
“We’re not going to a strip club.”
“Strip club, strip club, strip club...” Hawk chanted until his father chimed in along with him like rowdy, horny teenagers. It was a good thing Stone sat in the driver’s side in control of the steering wheel because he made the final decision.
He drove them to the old part of the city, amidst exasperated sounds of displeasure from the kids in the truck. He parked in a sketchy parking lot at the side of a small bar where he used to hang out when he’d lived in Oakston.
“I bet no one’s ever been murdered in this parking lot.” Hawk slammed the door truck shut. “It’s not sketchy at all.”
Slate walked up beside Stone. “Sometimes the hidden gems are in places you’d never think to look.”
A riddle in the form of a compliment. Stone would take it.
The bell above the door rang as they pushed it open and stepped into the bar. Oldies rock blasted from an ancient jukebox he was surprised still worked. He’d played a few songs on that machine in his day and danced for hours in the private area tucked around the corner the jukebox sat against. This “hidden gem,” as his father called it, was a place he used to take Bowie in her prime time where no one would recognize her. They could sit anywhere and none of the old men who frequented this bar had any idea—or cared to know—her celebrity status. They could dance for hours, play pool, and drink in a freedom that had been rare and seldom to her.
“Stone Patino!” It didn’t mean the proprietor didn’t recognize him. Reggie threw the towel he’d been drying a glass with over his shoulder, just like any old-school television bartender would do. He set the glass down to make his way down the central rectangular-shaped bar. Staying with the old charm of the place, collectible tin signs hung on the wooden bar top held up by thickly carved columns. Back lights lit the mirror-back shelves lined with alcohol bottles and wine glasses sparkled hung upside down on the rack around the perimeter.
“Reggie, my man.” He grabbed his hand for a shake and pulled him in for a half hug. “It’s been a while.”
Reggie stepped back and ran his fingers through the rust-colored, curly hair. “Too long. Who do we have here?” He nodded at Hawk and his dad. “Oh shit. You brought your old man.” He offered a hand to Slate. “Four-time champion. I’m a huge fan.” He pointed at the poster-size framed pictures of his dad in his champion days hanging against a far wall. “Could I get you to sign them?”
Slate turned on his championship charm. “If you have a marker, I have the time.”
Stone grinned anticipating Reggie’s fan worship and half expected him to pull his father away for some fame time. Slate lived for this shit.
“Drink?” Hawk elbowed his side before he walked to the bar not waiting for Stone’s reply. He ordered a couple shots.
Stone lagged behind, glancing around to see if there was a single girl he could brush Hawk off on so he’d get some quiet time. Unfortunately, regulars filled the booths in this bar—old men who drank every night. There was a woman here or there, but she’d also be more interested in his drink than Hawk’s flirting.
At the bar, Stone declined a shot and Hawk tossed back two and ordered a pitcher of beer. Hawk slid onto a stool while Stone stood, leaning his elbows on the edge of the bar to watch Reggie pull a poster out of the frame for his father to sign.
“He’s a legend,” Hawk said.
Stone had been raised with that legend. His success had dragged him away more than he lived at home. Competitions, matches, publicity and promotions had been his father’s main priority. Even when he could make it home early, he never seemed to make it, and had missed birthday celebrations or Stone’s sport games.
“Let’s grab a seat. Any preference?”
Stone shook his head and tracked behind Hawk to the booth next to where Reggie had two posters laid out on the table. His dad scribbled his John Hancock on the bottom corner of each one.
“Make sure to charge him, Dad. Double since he’s got you signing both.”
Reggie laughed. “I’ll take it off your owing tab.”
“I don’t owe squat.”
“Squatting sounds about right. Hours of squatting if I recall.”
“What the hell else do you do in a place like this?” Stone good-humouredly harassed the owner as he took a seat in the booth.
Hawk grabbed a chair from a table behind and pulled it to the end of the booth. He turned it backwards and straddled the seat. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. A young waitress carried a round tray with their pitcher of beer and three mugs toward them. “That’s more like it.”
“Lock it up, Hawk. That’s Reggie’s youngest sister and you don’t want to be getting mixed up with that.”
Hawk did a once over on Reggie, who paid no attention to them, deep in a discussion about Slate’s last and final fight. When Hawk glanced back at Stone, he gave him a look that said Reggie didn’t worry him. Most men didn’t worry Hawk.
He spun back to the table as the waitress arrived. “Here you go, guys.” She reached the beer between Hawk and the seat, giving Mr. Pervert a front row view of her breasts pushing over the top edge of the tight white shirt with the bar’s logo printed across the front.
“Thank you, Lolita.” Hawk’s smooth voice received a light laughter from the young girl.
She rested the tray on her hip. “Can I get you guys anything else?”
“Menus,” Stone said.
She smiled at Stone. “You got it.”
Hawk rolled his eyes to Stone. “Why do they always sense the ones that are unavailable?”
“I’m available.”
“I’m not stopping you.” Stone sipped his beer.
“No, Bowie is. She’s your cock-blocker.”
Stone hauled off and punched Hawk’s shoulder.
Hawk jerked back, then laughed and rubbed his arm. “At least I have clarification you’re into women. I was starting to think you had a thing for Dax.”
“Screw you.”
The waitress returned with menus, drawing his father’s attention back to the table where they each mulled over the options and ordered. Twenty minutes later, after unexpectedly easy and painless small talk, the food arrived and the men dug in.
“Tell me.” Hawk finished chewing a mouthful of his Angus burger. “Was Stone’s name intentionally chosen to continue the rock family? You know Slate and Stone?”
“Damn straight. His mother wanted to name him Steve, James, or some regular name like that.” Slate scoffed. “This boy was my blood. My legend and I knew he’d be a fighter.” He cut off a hunk of his steak and chewed it before he continued. “He kicked like a warrior inside his mother’s stomach and I just knew he had competing blood in him.” He looked across the table at Stone. “I just hadn’t realized he’d waste it underground.”
Stone took a large mouthful of his beer to keep from saying something he’d regret later. The man’s footsteps had been too big to follow, but that hadn’t been what had turned Stone off—as much as the old man might like to think. When Stone’s mother had left them, he’d vowed never to follow in his dad’s footsteps. On the road more than at home, yet finding a different woman each night to keep him company. Stone swore he’d never be the selfish father and husband his dad had been. Never.
His father’s intense stare baited him to say what neither of them had ever faced. Like hell he’d be dragging up the past in front of Hawk and at a place where his father was respected. He actually didn’t plan on ever going down that road. They’d lived through it, gone their separate ways and ended up in a somewhat normal relationship. What was the point in dragging up the past? What would it accomplish? They liked each other enough. Their relationship wasn’t as close as Dax had been with his father before he died, but it was what Stone had adapted to. He wouldn’t needlessly stir up the pot.
Stone broke the stare between them and picked up his mug with only a mouthful of beer left. “If you don’t drink that beer, old man, I might make you the DD tonight.” He raised the glass to his dad and downed the rest.
Slate pushed his beer across the table to his son. “Drink up, but remember you have to deal with the hangover in the morning.”
As if he’d reverted to his younger, rebellious years, he took his father’s dare. “If you want to get drunk, you have to get the right poison.” He lifted his hand in the air. “Reggie, bring me and my friend Hawk here a couple rounds of shots.”
“Friend?” Hawk rolled the word over his tongue. “I told you we had a bromance.”
Chapter Thirteen
IRISH NACHOS WERE Bowie’s favorite go-to food and the best place to grab this delicious dish in Oakston was at Dale’s bar. The sliced and fried potatoes topped with cheese, bacon, tomato, onion, and jalapenos watered and burned her mouth every single time.
Heaven on earth—even if it was in a sketchy area of the city. The food was delicious and the owners didn’t sell her out to the paparazzi.
She’d tried to convince Duke to eat with her so she wouldn’t be alone, but he never let down his guard, as much as she wished sometimes he would, he stayed on high alert. She should be grateful, but today she felt lonely.
Lonely.
How was that even possible to feel with three guests in her house and Susan and Emerie staying in the guest house? Not to mention her brother, but he’d been in a helluva mood since the poker game—a game he claimed not to recall, but the way she caught him eyeing Stone when he wasn’t looking said otherwise. If she were to guess, she’d say she would say her brother feared Stone.
Good, and after the first day when he’d tried to bail on the physiotherapy session, Stone had taken it into his own hands to burst into her brother’s wing, camera rolling, and dragged his ass out of bed before he’d threatened to post the whining fit he’d thrown online. Multiple times Bowie had wanted to step in and stop him, but she’d kept her distance and let Stone deal with her brother—everything she’d done to this point hadn’t worked.
After finally getting him to the fitness room, her brother had even tried to scare away the therapist, once again, forcing Stone to step in and put him in his place.
After only days of Reed’s sessions his therapist had proposed he try stationary bicycle training to improve his cardiovascular endurance. While Bowie been under the understanding her brother couldn’t move his own legs, he could. Even while he’d been sending away the therapists he’d been doing the same exercises his therapist had taught him. He’d been fooling them all and it gave her hope for him. But why bother with the exercises if he didn’t plan on walking one day?
Still, she felt lonely but she’d been lonely the last ten years, what made today—this week—any different? It was an easy answer: having Stone staying in her house, and knowing he knew her secrets but refused to discuss them with her. Sometimes when she smelled his scent or saw him in the house for a brief second, it was like she’d been sleeping the last ten years and nothing between them had changed. Then his bleak expression would greet her—his warning to stay away—and she’d remember how stubborn he’d always been.
Stone was pissed and rightfully so. She hadn’t brought him here to mix his life up with her baggage, so she’d kept her distance, while still watching her brother’s sessions. She hadn’t talked to Stone, or tried to explain herself. She didn’t need him to understand her decision all those years ago. She needed him to train now and fight for her brother. Her big-mouthed, selfish brother. Sometimes she wondered if he was worth her trouble, but then she reminded herself that he was her blood.
“I can’t tell if you’re real or I’m making you up.”
Bowie looked up to see Stone standing in front of the table. What was he doing here? And, at the same time, of course he was here. This had been his spot long before it had been her spot.
Stone leaned his elbow on the top of the seat and slipped off, hitting his back and cursing—loud.
“Have you been drinking? Are you drunk?”
He caught himself and repositioned on the back of the seat. He pointed at her. “You’re quick.”
“Stone, you have a fight tomorrow. What are you doing?”
“I was coming over here to sit in this spot” He knocked his fist on the table. “And remember the good ol’ days, but it looks like you beat me to it.”
She’d continued to be a regular here when he’d left. Truthfully, in the early days of his departure, she’d hoped to run into him here and foolishly dreamt of things between them going back to the way they’d been. What she hadn’t thought was him coming here today—and being drunk on top of it. Where was his father or Hawk?
Wobbling, he slid into the seat and pressed his side against hers. As if that wasn’t enough proof of her presence, he poked her shoulder. “Just checking if you’re real.”
She grunted and slid away from him. Touching was off limits. It didn’t matter how drunk he was.
“How are you going to survive tomorrow night’s fight in this condition?” she asked as she watched him dig into her late-night snack.
After a good helping, he said, “I’ve missed this.” He stretched out and eased against the seat looking comfortable enough to fall asleep. “I’ve survived a lot worse fights.”
She rolled her eyes. When he reached for her beer, she took it away. “No. You don’t need more to drink. You need coffee or water or food, anything to soak up all the alcohol you’ve drank.”
She waved at Duke standing at the end of the staff hallway, watching. When he arr
ived at the table, she said, “Can you order him something to drink without alcohol. Coffee, water, whatever.” If he insisted on grabbing drinks at least something without alcohol couldn’t make him any worse
“Duke!” Stone held his hand out and Duke gave him a firm handshake. “I’m glad to see you didn’t take off after Oscar died and Bowie chased me away so I wouldn’t beat the shit out of her little shit of a brother. Did you hear?” Stone rested his forearms on the table and leaned over it to whisper, “She knew about Reed hiring Walker to take me out that night. She knew and didn’t tell me. She knew and let it happen.”
“I didn’t let it happen. I didn’t even know about it until after the fight.”
Stone shrugged. “Can we believe her? Or not? Should we? Or not? Once a liar, always a liar,”
Bowie rolled eyes. “No, you’re not drunk at all.”
“She knew,” he whispered one more time as if Duke hadn’t heard him the first time. He sat back in the seat. “Wrap your head around that.”
Duke’s attentive eyes darted to Bowie, but he knew better than to ask. “I’m not leaving you alone with him,” he said in a low voice. He waved into the main part of the bar.
“Why not? I’m not the liar. I’m the guy saving her brother’s ass when he doesn’t deserve it.”
Bowie touched Duke’s arm. “I’m fine. Can you see if Slate or Hawk’s out there. I don’t want him driving.”
“You’re sure?” He eyed Stone again.
“Yes.”
“I can hear you both.” Stone’s attempt to eye Duke the way he had him turned out looking like he was constipated.
When Duke finally left them, Stone asked. “Why are you worried about me? You’re the one who hasn’t been back to a match since your dad’s death. Hell, you haven’t even been back to the restaurant.”
“I sold it, Stone. It doesn’t belong to me anymore. Why would I go back?”
“Why wouldn’t you? Your life was there. You dined there your entire life.”