by Naima Simone
God, he hurt. Every damn muscle and bone pulsed with red-hot heat. And he didn’t have anything left in him. Under the roar of the crowd, Trainor’s taunts and growls of “Get your ass up, bitch” reached him, as did the “Back up!” and “Calm down, asshole” of the two men Rick hired as “refs”.
At this point, he didn’t care if they let Trainor loose. Unlike the other nights just like this when he’d entered the makeshift ring, the fighting wasn’t subduing the darkness. The violence wasn’t drowning out his thoughts, his memories…his grief.
I never looked at you through rose-colored glasses.
Gabriella’s voice, her words, dogged him.
You never had to hide who you were from me.
Images of Friday night filtered through his head, replacing Trainor’s black, steel-toed shit-kickers and the feet of the crowd surrounding them. Of her sinking to her knees before him, a defiant smile curling her lips. Of her sleeping on his chest after so freely giving him her pleasure and trust. Of her beautiful eyes glazed with passion as he sunk deep within her, bottoming out in her tight, hot embrace.
Of her tilting her head back and telling him he wasn’t a monster…that he was the man she’d loved.
Of her asking if he could love her again…
Jesus. Jesus Christ.
He wanted to close his eyes, just let everything fade away. But something smacked hard on the cement next to him, and the sound of heavy breathing jolted him from his stupor. He opened his eyes to find Ben Trainor on his hands and knees, leering down at him, breathing with the rhythm and intensity of a freight train. Obviously, he’d managed to break through the refs’ hold.
“Get up and fight, or I’ll end you right here, right now,” the man snarled.
He pulled his arm back. Killian closed his eyes.
You were my everything.
Killian rolled. He heard Trainor howl in pain as his fist smashed down on the concrete in the spot where Killian’s face had been seconds before. Inhaling, he shoved the pain radiating from his body down, locking it in a steel box deep inside him. Gathering the last of his strength, he rose to his feet. He didn’t want Trainor to bring anything to an end. Not this fight, not Killian’s life.
Not his chance with Gabriella.
Shaking his hand out, Trainor lumbered to an upright position and the two men circled each other.
Not like this.
“If you stop jacking off long enough, you can try.” Killian grinned, which had the desired effect of enraging the other man. Trainor charged. Killian leaped forward to meet him halfway.
At the last second, Killian, grinding his teeth, dropped and, with a low, spinning side kick, swept Trainor’s knee. The big man’s legs buckled. His hands and knees met the cement floor. With all the remaining strength in his body, Killian jumped up and rushed him, slamming his fist into his opponent’s jaw. And Trainor crumpled to the ground.
Sucking in harsh, serrated breaths, Killian waited. Praying the fighter would stay down.
Ten seconds later, Trainor remained out cold, and relief swept through Killian like a swift, frigid breeze. He stumbled once before steadying himself and stalking through the howling crowd. Pain throbbed from the cut above his eye as well as one across his cheekbone. A busted lip, swollen balls, a couple of bruised ribs, and a multitude of contusions rounded out his injury checklist.
But none of those hurts mattered as he reached the corner where he’d left his shirt and hoodie. He snatched up the clothing and hurriedly jerked them on, a sense of urgency driving him to move quickly in spite his protesting body.
He needed to see Gabriella.
To ask her forgiveness for being a coward and running when he should’ve been brave for her. Ask. Hell, beg.
Because it was him who wasn’t. Him, who out of fear, had crushed the courage and heart it’d required to come to him. To sacrifice for him. To love him. No, he was the one who should be at her feet right now pleading with her to let him in out of the cold. To warm him.
He would be lying to himself if he claimed a small part of him wasn’t terrified to love her. To take this risk. But the alternative… Returning to that desolate, lonely place, where he had to face bastards like Trainor just to feel something, didn’t bear thinking about.
Here he stood in this dark, dingy warehouse, still fighting his way out of darkness. Still throwing futile haymakers at the demons that dogged him. He’d believed he’d gotten out, but with just her appearance shining her bright, beautiful life on his shadowed existence, he realized, no. He was still as mired in the muck of his past as he’d been five years ago. The darkness was his current prison—invisible, but as real as the steel bars he’d spent two years of his life behind.
And the person who held the key—no, who was the key—he’d pushed away out of fear.
He exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them to stare sightlessly at the cement wall in front of him. He had to fix this. Had to tell Gabriella not only could he love her, but he did.
And pray he wasn’t already too late.
Chapter Nine
“Gabby, I didn’t ask you to come thousands of miles to work,” Uncle Garrett grumbled.
Grinning, Gabriella pushed down the tap, tilting an ice cold mug as beer poured out, filling the glass. Topping it off, she set it on a tray along with three other drinks. A waitress hefted it up and darted out in the crowd gathered in her uncle’s bar to celebrate his birthday and retirement.
“So when your bartender called in, what was I supposed to do? Let you man the bar?” She arched an eyebrow. Not that he wouldn’t have done just that. Uncle Garrett was a bona-fide workaholic and would’ve gladly tied on an apron and started serving beer, regardless that the building was bursting at the seams with people here to honor his eightieth birthday. Besides, he deserved to enjoy this night. Especially since it was a good one for him—he’d been able to recall everyone’s names, remembered the recollections his friends brought up. Yeah, he needed this night, and her jumping in to help keep the drinks coming and the party going was just another way to show her gratitude to the man who’d been the only father figure she’d known.
And then there was the added bonus that taking drink orders and serving them up kept her mind occupied. Each hour, minute, hell, second, she didn’t have to obsess over Killian and their parting of ways two days ago, meant another hour, minute, second of peace…
“Soooo, Gabby, where did you disappear to Friday night?” Wendy slid onto an empty barstool, a knowing smile curling her mouth.
Well, damn, there went that peace.
“Damn, Captain Obvious.” Janelle slapped the other woman on the shoulder, elbowing into a tight space next to Wendy. She grinned at Gabriella, her eyes bright with curiosity. “I waited for you to call me with the dirty details. One minute we were waiting on you to come back from the bathroom, and then the next, Rion Ward was offering to call us a cab. Without you.” She waggled her eyebrows. “So spill it, babe. Did you find Killian?”
Just the mention of his name sent a stabbing dart of fire through her chest. Inhaling a deep breath, she nodded as someone hailed her from the other end of the bar.
“Be right back,” she said, escaping from her cousin and sister-in-law. Oh yeah, definitely escaping. By the time she filled the order of two pints, one Guinness, and one Jack’s Abbey, she’d composed herself enough to face the avaricious curiosity of her family. “Sorry ’bout that. Did you—”
The fake, brittle smile she’d fixed on her lips disappeared into a confused frown. Neither Wendy nor Janelle listened to her, all of their attention focused on the front of the pub. As seemed to be the case with more and more people as a thick silence slowly spread over the bar until only a low hum of murmuring voices remained.
Following the direction of the others, she shifted her gaze toward the bar’s entrance.
And her heart stuttered in her chest before racing like an Olympic gold medalist.
Killian.
She wante
d to look away, but like a glutton for punishment, she could only stare. Take in the dark, thick hair that tumbled around the strong, sharp planes of his beautiful face and brushed his broad shoulders. A part of her resented that he could still be the image of male beauty when he’d taken a sledgehammer to her heart. But apparently, that section of her psyche bore no competition for the woman who still longed to climb him like a spider monkey in heat. Damn it.
Her uncle moved forward, greeting Killian with that pounding on the shoulder/hand clap thing men did. Only then did she tear her rapt—starving—gaze away from Killian long enough to notice the two tall men behind him—Rion Ward and Sasha Merchant—as well as the stunning brunette and redhead standing next to them.
What the hell were they doing here?
As if they all perceived her question on some weird telepathic link, all five gazes swung toward her. Aaaand so did every head in the bar.
Heat climbed up her chest and crept into her face. Picking up a cloth, she started wiping up a non-existent spill on the bar top.
“Gabby,” her uncle called.
She didn’t glance up from her cleaning. “Yes, Uncle Garrett?”
“Killian Vincent is here to see you,” he informed her as if she couldn’t see the gorgeous giant in the black, wool coat. “Claims he has something to say to you.”
“Is that right?” she ground out, damn near rubbing the veneer off the bar.
“I think that top is spotless by now,” her uncle drawled. “Are you going to listen to the man?”
She tossed the rag down and crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow. “It doesn’t seem I have much of a choice, do I?” she shot back. Then narrowing her gaze on Killian, she snapped, “You fight dirty, don’t you?”
“If I have to,” came Killian’s calm reply. As if he wasn’t creating a spectacle that the neighborhood would be gossiping about until Jesus came back.
“I wasn’t aware you wanted to fight. Dirty or otherwise.” No way in hell she’d forgotten his words. They haunted her. I can’t let myself love you again. She tightened her arms around herself, the gesture now more protective than defensive. “And you couldn’t have just called like normal people?”
“I don’t have your phone number. And no, a call wouldn’t have worked.” He stepped toward her, and the silent, enraptured partygoers parted like the Red Sea. “Because then I wouldn’t be able to see your face again, even if it’s just one more time.”
“Oh damn,” Janelle breathed.
Gabriella was struck speechless. Numb, she slowly lowered her arms, certain she hadn’t heard him right. She would’ve sold her soul to have that said to her two nights ago. When her courage had been a healthy thing instead of a bruised one.
“I’ve hurt you, Gabby,” Killian continued in that ruined, but lovely voice, steadily approaching her. “And it’s going to take a long time before I can forgive myself for that. I know I’ve never been good with pretty words, but for you, I’ll try.”
He neared the bar, and Wendy and Janelle scrambled out of the way, making room for him. If her heart wasn’t cracking down the middle, she might’ve found it comical.
“You were always the best part of me. If you didn’t know that, then it was my fault because I should’ve told you every day. Making sure you knew how important you were to me should’ve been my first priority, my job. You told me I wasn’t a monster. That’s because of you—you were my conscience, my humanity, my heart. If it weren’t for you, I might’ve become something unrecognizable, but you reminded me every day who I was… Loved.”
This isn’t fair. For someone who believed he didn’t have lovely words, he was apparently a fast learner and doing a bang-up job. You were always the best part of me. She blinked against the sting of tears, ordering herself not to let one drop spill over. If he believed that, then why had he pushed her away? Why hadn’t he wanted to love her again? Her heart refused to stop adoring him—it would sooner cease beating. But her mind… What if they were just pretty words, and one day he decided forgiveness was beyond him? That loving her was a mistake?
I don’t know if I’m that brave.
Silence filled the room, and she could feel the eyes on them. Hear the soft sighs of the women, and the rumbled approval from her uncle. But only Killian filled her vision.
Killian’s bright hazel eyes, hot and focused on her.
Killian’s firm, unsmiling mouth and the small cut on the corner of his bottom lip.
Killian’s big body, tight with tension.
Braced for rejection.
“Uncle Garret,” she whispered.
But in the utter stillness of the bar, he must’ve clearly heard her, because he yelled out, “Yeah, Gabby.”
“Can we borrow your office for a minute?” she asked.
He snorted. “It better be only for a minute. Don’t make me have to come knocking. And Killian Vincent?”
Killian turned and faced her uncle. “Yes, sir?”
“You hurt my girl again, and old and feeble-minded or not, I’ll whip your ass before God gets the news, you understand me?”
“Uncle Garret,” Gabriella hissed, mortified. Jesus Christ.
“I understand,” Killian replied, and though his shoulders didn’t shake, she caught the vein of humor in his voice.
“Killian.” She reached across the bar and touched his arm. “Could we take this to a more private place?”
He nodded, and moments later they headed toward her uncle’s office, the weight of the partygoers’ speculation and greedy curiosity on their backs. As she twisted the knob on the door, Rion Ward called out, “A round of drinks for everyone. On me.” She closed the door on the cheers.
“What are you doing?” she blurted out, leaning against the wall. Hell, she needed the support because her legs were doing a piss-poor job of holding her up.
Killian slid his hands in the front pockets of his black pants, and studied her. The dark waves of his hair emphasized the beauty of his golden eyes, and yeah, she sounded like one of those flowery romance novels, but she just wanted to fall into them.
She pressed her spine against the wall. There would be no falling into eyes, arms…or anything else until she had answers.
“This,” she waved a hand toward the door, “public declaration thing isn’t exactly you.”
“No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “But I was desperate.” He glanced to the side, and she caught the tic of a muscle along his jaw before he turned to her again. “You make me desperate,” he rasped. When she dipped her head, he shifted forward, lifting an arm toward her, then after a brief hesitation, dropping it. “Gabby, please look at me.”
With obvious pain abrading his already rough voice, she couldn’t not comply.
“You’ve been fighting again,” she whispered, her fingers itching to brush the fresh-looking cuts on his cheekbone and above his left eyebrow. “Demons?”
“Yes. But of my own making this time,” he murmured. “What I said out in the bar was true. Rion and Sasha… They were my brothers, but until you, I didn’t know tenderness. I didn’t know what it was to have someone smile like the sun had risen just because I walked through the door. My father didn’t care if I came home, much less if I’d eaten, or if I didn’t feel well, or if I was hurt. But you did. For the first time in my life, I was someone’s world, and you were mine. So I held on tight…too tight. I lived in fear that you would be ripped away from me. Or that one day you would realize I wasn’t worthy of your adoration and heart. I was terrified that one day I would walk into the bar, and you wouldn’t smile.” He chuckled, the sound serrated, dry. “And what I feared, I created.”
He shook his head. “After I went to jail, I was wild with pain and anger. But I was also relieved.” Gabriella frowned, and a corner of his mouth curled into a humorless half smile. “I know, it sounds crazy, right? But underneath everything else? Yeah, relief. Because the shoe had dropped. I could stop wondering when the end would happen. And I would also never feel love and the agon
y of having it ripped away again. In a life that had become chaotic, that I could control. But the moment I saw you again, I realized I’d been bullshitting myself. In that instant, I knew I couldn’t let you in again because you had the power to take me back to that dark place that I’d promised myself I wouldn’t return to. I convinced myself having your body again was enough, that I could be satisfied with just sex, but as soon as you walked out of Lick—no, before you walked out—I knew I’d fucked up.”
He moved forward, eliminating the distance between them. No hesitation. No permission. This was the man who had taught her body to sing to the special, erotic tune he set. The man who made her body implode with pleasure. The man who owned her heart.
Pinching her chin, he stroked the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “You asked me if I could forgive you. Yes. You asked me if I could love you again. The truth is, I never stopped. Not loving you would mean not breathing.”
Those tears, those damn tears she’d promised she wouldn’t shed… Well, that ship sailed as one, and then another, rolled down her cheek. With a low murmur, he wiped them away.
“You have a life in Los Angeles, and I don’t want you to give it up for me. Just…” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Let me be a part of it. We can make Boston and L.A. our homes, or you can stay in L.A., and I’ll live bi-coastal. Or I’ll give Rion and Sasha my part of Lick and help you build your dream.” He brushed his lips over her brow. “Please,” he murmured. “Let me share your life.”
“Only if you let me share yours,” she whispered. The last barrier she’d erected around her heart cracked, the many fissures giving way under the pressure of the love and hope that filled her chest. Her soul. For the first time in five years, she felt…whole. Complete. Shivering, she leaned into his mouth, his kiss, his big, sheltering body. “We’ll figure out the details. As long as we’re together, we can make anything work.”
A shudder worked through him and vibrated against her. “Tell me, Gabby,” he demanded.
“Do you know how much I love hearing you call me that?” She cupped his face between her palms and tilted his head down so she could graze his mouth with hers. Scatter kisses over his chin. “Don’t ever call me anything but Gabby, okay?”