All In (Caldwell Brothers Book 5)

by Colleen Charles

  When you know better, you do better. And now they know better.

  But tonight, I haven’t been in the small room for more than five minutes when a young woman steps inside and ducks her head.

  “Hi there,” I say.

  “Hi.” The girl sits down in taciturn silence, twisting her hands in her lap and glancing down at her fingers. Sadness radiates from every pore of her body. My hands itch to reach out and take hers in mine, but I know that’s not appropriate. All I want is to raise these women up into their power and take their pain away.

  “Is there something you’d like to talk about?” I ask gently. “Would you like a bottle of water?”

  The girl sniffs and nods and I pass her a bottle of Aquafina. She doesn’t open it, but rather spins and twists the bottle in her hands.

  “Thanks,” she murmurs in a voice so quiet I can barely hear it.

  “You know, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Even though she avoids eye contact, I hold space for her to share if she gathers the courage. “I know it’s hard. If it helps to just sit here with me in silent support, that’s fine.”

  The girl’s head snaps up, and she locks her eyes with mine. “You don’t know hard. No one has been through what I have.”

  If you only knew.

  “That may be true,” I counter, keeping my voice low and calm. “But I know that talking about hard things takes a lot of strength. And I know you have that strength – I know we all do.” The girl’s eyes begin to water, and I pass her the box of tissues I keep in the small room. “It’s okay. Take as much time as you need.”

  The girl cries for a few minutes before blowing her nose and sitting up straight. “I thought he cared about me.” She bites her lip so hard I fear she’ll draw blood. There’s a hard edge in her voice, and I sense a lot of pain buried within her. “But then, after what he did, he was just a selfish pig the whole time. All he cared about was getting laid. And then he posted a video on Facebook. My best friend saw, and now she won’t even talk to me. She keeps calling me a slut.” Her voice breaks and she reaches for another tissue, blowing her nose and looking miserable and upset.

  I reach out and put a hand on her knee. “It’s okay.” I hope she’ll soften her rigid body underneath my touch. “You’re in a safe place, and nothing is going to hurt you here. That man – whoever he was – violated you, but he’s not going to harm you again, not here.”

  The girl begins to cry again. I sit there, trying not to think of my own painful past experiences as I watch her shoulders quake and shiver with each sob. The truth is, being here in Melanie’s group isn’t always comfortable for me. But it’s important that I help other women as much as I can…in any way possible. It’s a huge part of my own healing process.

  “Something bad happened to me when I was a little girl,” I say, without even thinking about it. “Really bad.”

  The girl looks up at me. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and there’s a strange look in her eyes. “What happened?”

  An unpleasant flash of thoughts cross my mind, and I shiver. “I was kidnapped. And I was assaulted. And it took me a long time – years – to get over it.”

  The girl gnaws at her lip. “That’s gnarly.”

  “But I did get over it. And I know you can too. Because we’re strong, and we’re fighters. We’re not victims. We’re survivors.”

  We’re survivors, I repeat to myself. And we always will be.

  Chapter Eight

  Troy

  When Dante leaves Nixon’s office, I stand there, feeling like a fish out of water.

  “That bastard,” Nixon mutters under his breath. “Can you fucking believe the nerve of him? This is my house. Mine!”

  “Well, yeah,” I say, shrugging. “I mean, did you really expect anything different from Dante Giovanetti? He’s a douche of epic proportions. Capable of anything. Everything. Nixon, you know he wasn’t about to prance in here and not take every opportunity to get in your face.”

  “You’re right,” Nixon growls. He reaches into a deep desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of Talisker. “Drink?”

  I shrug, thinking maybe it will take some of my pain away. “Why not.”

  Nixon pours two small glasses of the expensive scotch and hands it over. He sniffs his, swirling it around in the glass tumbler, but I just knock mine down my throat.

  “He’s been a thorn in my side too fucking long.” Nixon shakes his head, but even I know it’s going to take more than that to erase memories of Dante. “But Reagan’s close, Troy. He’s damn close to taking that asshole down.”

  “What did Dante mean, when he said that you’d fucked with him too?”

  Nixon groans. “Oh that. It’s nothing. There were a few accidents around the time of the Helping Hearts & Hands benefit fashion show that I thought were Dante’s fault. And I retaliated, because why wouldn’t I? I mean, toilet sanitizer ruining the designer looks? That shit has his name written all over it. How would I know it actually was an accident?”

  “And…” I grin. “I expect you didn’t exactly apologize for that?”

  Nixon snorts and shakes his head. “Why the fuck would I apologize? For every rat you see, there are hundreds you don’t. So he’s not guilty of that one thing? He’s guilty of tons of others that we don’t even know about yet. Dante’s always been a complete asshole, and this is just his true colors showing.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “I know he’s dangerous, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea to deliberately provoke someone like that.”

  Nixon glances up at me with an arrogant look on his face. “Oh, so you’re the owner of the Armónico now?”

  “No. But Nixon, come on – you know I’m right. Let sleeping dogs lie. Don’t poke the bear. All that shit.”

  Nixon stares at me for a long time before shrugging. “I guess. Look, about earlier – I didn’t get to say what I meant, about Joslyn.”

  “I think that’s pretty clear.” I toss my hands up in the air in the universal sign of surrender. “You want me to find a way to work with her, no matter what.”

  “Yeah. You think you can do it?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I think I can do it.”

  When I leave Nixon’s office, a bad taste lingers in my mouth. I feel like I left something unsaid, something I could’ve articulated to make Nixon understand the true danger of Dante. I know Nixon is richer than Croesus, but dealing with a dirty man like Dante requires more than money. It requires a lot of cunning, and skill…and big, beefed-up security guards.

  Goons.

  People like me.

  I take the rest of the day off. I can tell Jack’s not overly impressed by the large bruises forming on the side of my face, or by the way I’m limping. He waves me away like I stumbled into work drunk and reeling from a bar fight. Damn that Joslyn, I think as I limp out of the Armónico. I should’ve fought back. Well, next time, I guess I don’t have a choice, now do I?

  When I get home, I put a frozen pizza in the oven to bake, and flop on the couch with professional wrestling in the background. These guys have all the luck. They get to wear costumes and develop personas, and everyone just acts like it’s real. Maybe I should’ve gone into that instead of security detail at a goddamned casino, I think as I watch two of my favorite wrestlers growling and throwing each other around the ring. But my sense of loyalty to Nixon keeps me tied to the Armónico, and deep down, I know I’d never quit. Nixon’s my brother from another mother, he’s done a lot for me.

  After I lost both my parents, I bounced around from one horrible foster situation to another until Nixon’s dad took pity on me and took me in, treating me as one of his own so I could finish high school. My mom died of a broken heart disguised as cancer, and my old man died right where he belonged, languishing away behind iron bars in the slammer. It couldn’t have been easy for Nix, sharing his only parent. But he did it. No whining, no complaining, no questions asked.

  And I can’t let him
down, no matter what happens.

  I doze off and wake up an hour later. Noxious black smoke fills the condo, and I groan as I leap up from the couch and rescue the burnt-to-a-crisp pizza from the oven. It doesn’t even look like food at this point – it just looks like a black Frisbee of crispy doom – and I throw it in the trash with a disgusted gesture.

  “Damn,” I mutter, looking down at my watch like the fuckup I am. It’s late, and I don’t feel like going to the store. So, I flop back on the couch and order Chinese takeout. Nothing like a big heaping portion of MSG to clear the cobwebs.

  Just as the doorbell buzzes, so does my phone.

  “I’m coming,” I say, swiping open the call. “I’ll be right there.”

  “What?” A familiar, female voice squawks. “What are you talking about? You will not be right here.”

  I groan. “Chinese delivery. I’ll be right there, at the door. Just give me a few minutes.”

  “Jesus, Troy, can’t you talk and answer the door at the same time?” the voice demands with a shrill squeak, and I realize it’s Joslyn. Shit, we’re off to another rip-roaring start, and the bell just rang on round two.

  “Hold on,” I tell her. I set the phone down on the bar and rush to the door to grab my food. Paying the driver with a wad of cash, I slam the door shut and set the steaming bags down on the table. General Tso smells heavenly, and part of me hope’s Joslyn has given up and is off the line by the time I reach my phone.

  “Hello?”

  “God, that took forever,” Joslyn says. “What, did you cram six egg rolls in your mouth at once and forget to chew?”

  I press the heal of my hand to my temple. Somehow, I don’t think this is part of Nixon’s bargain. I may have to deal with her bullshit in the studio, but I sure as hell don’t need to deal with it in the sanctuary of my own home.

  “What do you want?” I keep an eye locked on my steaming, delicious food. “This better be quick. I’m hungry. And that makes me crabby.”

  Joslyn snorts. “You know, I was going to ask you to come later in the week, but since you’re going ahead with the carbo-load, I may as well just spit it out now.”

  Impossible bitch. “What do you want? You want me back in your class?”

  “Not exactly.” Joslyn clears her throat. “I need help with something else. At my house.”

  Ugh. Pulling my fingernails out with pliers sounds better than going anywhere with this woman, but there’s no way I’m going to let Nixon take me off this job. I want it – I want to show him that I can succeed, no matter what.

  Leadership. That’s my new motto.

  “Hello? Lunkhead, you there? Or did you fall face first into a platter of Happy Family?”

  “I’m here.” I resist the nearly overwhelming urge to snap back at her. I’ll just kill her with kindness. That will throw her right off her game. “I’ll be over first thing in the morning.”

  “Good. Don’t eat too much,” Joslyn says in a vicious tone that makes me think she’s smiling. “You wouldn’t want to pass out or anything. I’m not going to go easy on you, Troy.”

  “I didn’t ask you to. And I won’t.”

  “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she says, hanging up.

  I roll my eyes in a petulant gesture of defiance that she can’t see. Whatever she throws at me, I can handle it. I can fucking handle her.

  With a shit-eating grin on my face, I shove my phone in my pocket and begin attacking my chicken and potsticker appetizer with gusto. By the time I’m finished eating, I’m in a carb-coma, staring at WWE until it’s time for bed.

  ***

  In the morning, confidence rips through me, dripping over every cell. I’ll show her. Whatever she has planned will be exactly the kind of thing I need to complete in order to prove myself to Joslyn. There’s no way she can feel good about rejecting me when she sees that I’m a complete badass. She just caught me off guard the other day. I never thought a tiny woman would come at me like that.

  Joslyn’s house surprises me. It’s a tiny little Cape Cod style, probably mid-century, with a brick exterior. It doesn’t look like the house of a female fitness instructor, it looks like Grandma’s little tiny cabin, with fresh cookies on the table and a vase full of daffodils on the mantle. But when I walk around back, my eyes widen into huge orbs that rival an alien spaceship. A huge obstacle course stretches over the property, going as far back as the eye can see. Professional grade. Like something you see on one of those television competition shows. Joslyn’s put a ton of money and time into building this damn thing.

  For the first time today, uncertainty crawls up my spine and lands in the middle of my torso. I’m no longer sure I can handle whatever she throws at me. I thought she’d ask me to move some furniture. Fix her car. Screw her senseless with my huge cock that won’t stop aching for her.

  She’s going to ask me to complete a ninja warrior course.

  Fuck me.

  “You made it.” Joslyn strides up, looking amazingly hot in a pair of tight Nike shorts and a dark pink sports bra that shows her toned abs. I wonder what it would taste like if I licked the indentations. She already glistens with a fine sheen of sweat, and the sight of her licking her lips drills an ache in my balls. She takes a plastic straw into her mouth and sucks water from a Camelbak strapped to her sculpted shoulders.

  “Of course.” I take a drink from my own water bottle and toss it down in the dirt. “I couldn’t stand you up, could I? Not after you asked so nicely.”

  “Well, congratulations, you can keep time,” Joslyn says with a smirk. “Now go ahead, lunkhead. I wanna see what you can do. Have at it. Or, are you afraid?”

  “This looks easy,” I lie, wiping my sweaty palms on my shorts and stretching. I didn’t warm up before I left home, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. How badly could I hurt myself on a girly course?

  “I’m timing you.” Joslyn tosses her head and glances down at her Apple Watch. “So, you’d better move.”

  I break into a run and leap on the first piece of equipment, a wooden wall with little foot ledges and ropes swaying from the top. By the time I grab the rope and spring against the board, I realize this isn’t so bad at all – it’s just like training. The sun shines brightly on my head, and sweat drips into my eyes. I pay it no mind as I push on forward, crouching and leaping and throwing myself over the wooden ledge.

  “Take that!” I yell as I crash down on the other side. Breaking into a run, I leap over the next few obstacles with ease. Tire course? Check. Crawling under wire? Check. Monkey-bars over an empty pit? Check, check, check.

  Watch me now, Medusa. If the snakes wiggling on your bitchy head slither into my way, trying to stop me, I’ll kill them with my bare fucking hands.

  Joslyn’s silent as I make my way around the course when all I want from her is something simple like a smile. Can’t she throw me a bone? My adrenaline pumps hot through my veins, and my level of confidence ratchets up with each second. As I push on, running and panting, I chastise myself for even worrying about her little obstacle course. I saw one more challenging in midnight rerun of Private Benjamin.

  Yeah, I’ve got this. I force myself to run even faster, pushing myself harder than before. Just a few more obstacles, and then I’ll be face to face with Joslyn.

  Toe to toe.

  A winner.

  I can’t wait to see that smug little grin wiped clear off her face.

  I approach the last obstacle, a water hazard, with a lazy smirk. This is it. I leap forward, stretching my arm out to grab the rope handles. But my fingers swing and miss, and before I know it, I sail through the air, hurtling toward the hazard and certain injury. When my body collides with the pond of tepid water, my confidence pops like a balloon.

  “Looks like you haven’t got what it takes,” Joslyn snaps, a smug grin on her face. She cocks her head to the side and smirks. “Pussy. Pull yourself up by your waterlogged bootstraps, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  Chapter Nine
<
br />   Joslyn

  “Come on, ladies! You can do it!” I leap from side to side, swinging my fists through the air, and hopping on the balls of my feet. All around me, strong women do their best to attack the punching bags hanging from the ceiling. As the loud sound of “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” blares through Tribe of Amazons, I realize I’ve never felt prouder.

  I’m doing it. I’m helping other women.

  “Joslyn, this is hard,” Haylee whines. Her normally pale face puffs up into a ruddy, tomato-red and her forehead glistens under a layer of sweat.

  “I know, but you can do it,” I call loudly over the music. “Keep going, ladies! We’re almost at the finish line! Dig deep!”

  Haylee groans but she obeys, kicking and punching with more force than ever before. As the song winds down to a close, I wipe my brow with my forearm and stand with my shoulders squared and my feet planted firmly on the ground.

  “That was great.” Taryn grabs her designer water bottle and walks over to the water cooler in the corner, filling it up and pouring most of the cool liquid over her soaked hair. “I haven’t felt this good in like, a really long time. Like I’ve really accomplished something by pushing my body to its limits.”

  I grin, because I really like her. She’s the type of dedicated, cool chick that makes for an excellent friend. “That’s the point. And you can keep with it too. I’m proud of you.”

  Taryn nods. “I’m wiped, but I feel great.”

  Haylee and Marcella join us at the water cooler, chattering excitedly about the next class.

  “So, Joslyn, when is Troy coming back? I want a chance to kick the shit out of him.” Taryn chuckles as she punches her closed fists into the air above my head. “Or did you scare him off? He’s so imposing on the casino floor, intimidating tourists right and left. I loved seeing the shoe on the other foot.”