Thirty-one
Killian
I called a cab and had it pick me up at the backdoor of the training center to avoid being followed by photographers. The entire ten-minute drive to Ryder’s I spent rehearsing my speech. Once I’m finally at his door, I’ve forgotten everything I’ve rehearsed and settle for simply apologizing for being a shithead friend.
I fidget while waiting for him to open, wondering if I should at least hold my hands up to protect my face just in case. Nah, I’ll leave them down. He’s earned the potshot should he feel the need to give it.
He opens the door and doesn’t even meet my eyes. “Come on in.” He turns away and flops on the couch, not a hint of the hostility I was expecting, which makes me worry. Anger would mean he at least cares, but his I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude might mean any number of I’m-sorrys won’t do jack crap
He looks about the same—worn jeans, black belt, Docs, and sporting a black and red Ataxia shirt. His hair is still bleached blond, a little shorter than it was a year ago, but still sticking out at all angles.
I cruise through his pad to the bar and prop my ass on a stool. “Thanks for hearing me out.”
He’s holding onto a pair of drumsticks, absently slapping out a beat on his thigh. “You mind getting to whatever it is you want to say?”
This is awkward as hell. It’s been so long since I’ve had to explain myself to anyone. And bringing up all this crap from the past makes me feel weak, another thing I haven’t felt much of in the last year.
“You were right; I lied to you.”
His eyes dart to mine and his drumstick thumping stops.
“I was busy in London, busier than I’ve ever been, but I avoided your calls.”
“Why?”
I blow out a breath and lick my lips, not liking the taste of humility on my tongue. “Because I was weak. I was afraid if I talked to you I’d hear about Ax, and I couldn’t handle hearing about how she’d moved on.”
“You should’ve just told me that.”
“I should’ve, but that would’ve been bringing her up, and honest to God, Ry, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even think about her name without wanting to jump on the next flight home.”
“I thought you two were good that night you took her home from the party, after you gave that Clifford fuck a new nose. I thought things were solid between you two.”
Even a year later, knocking that asshole for disrespecting Ax is still gratifying to think about. “I did too. Axelle and I made some important decisions about our relationship that night. We were together, ya know?”
He nods. “I figured as much, but then you took the London gig.”
I blow out a breath and nod back. “I left, but only because she didn’t give me any choice.”
He frowns. “That doesn’t make any sense. She needed you.”
I whip my gaze to his, anger boiling in my gut. “I wanted to stay. I wanted to take care of her. I offered to be there for them. She didn’t want me.”
His eyebrows pinch together. “You know she ended up having to drop out of school, right?”
“Yeah, she told me that when I saw her today.” I shrug, the news coming as little surprise. I figured the baby would force her to have to take time off school.
“She had to get a restraining order.”
Time comes to a grinding halt.
The pause button hit on all my internal organs.
No breathing.
No blinking.
I think even my pulse froze. “What did you say?”
“He fucking tormented her, man.” He glares at me.
Still on pause. “What?”
“Clifford.” He throws his hands up. “Dude, are you fucking listening to a word I’m saying? He bullied the shit out of Axelle after you left. He put up naked pictures of her on all the campus boards…”
Lungs back online and pumping.
“…fucking tore her up on social media…”
Eyes blinking.
“…broke into her apartment and trashed the place…”
Pulse pounding.
“He’d make sure to catch her walking through campus so he could trip her and she’d fall flat on her face.”
Fury.
I push up so fast the stool crashes to the ground. My fists clench at my side as adrenaline bursts through my veins. “Why didn’t anyone fucking tell me!”
He jumps off the couch, seeming just as angry as I am. “I fucking tried! You were too busy being famous to give a shit!”
I fist my hands in my hair. “What the hell, Ry! You know I would’ve come home if I’d known this shit was going on!”
“We didn’t even know it was going on until it got so bad she couldn’t hide it anymore. Then she made us promise not to tell you.”
“Why the fuck would she do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, asshole! Why don’t you pull your head out of your ass long enough to think about it?”
Think about it? I can’t concentrate on shit outside of breaking Clifford’s neck.
Unless… “The baby.” It had to be because of the baby, right? God, he tripped her when she was carrying his fucking child! Anger rips red hot through me.
“What baby?”
Annnd I’m back to pause.
“Axelle’s baby.”
His face twists in confusion. “Axelle doesn’t have a baby.”
Hold on. I rub my eyes and try to shake the feeling of being part of some sick practical joke.
“When I left”—I shake my head, trying like hell to make sense of all this—“she was pregnant when I left.”
“No…” He frowns, shakes his head, blinks, and then… “Oh shit.”
“What?”
He drops back down the couch and rubs his temple. “She got really sick a couple of months before she dropped out. They told me it was a stomach bug. When she came back to school, she seemed a little, I don’t know, depressed or something. I just assumed she was still feeling like crap. Then Clifford started messing with her and…shit. I didn’t know.” He peers up at me. “She must’ve lost the baby.”
“When? Do you remember when all this happened?”
“Yeah, it was the time I called you. I called her later that day to talk to her about what a piece of shit you were and…” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Fuck.”
My chest feels like it’s about to explode through my skin.
He tilts his head and stares right through me. “She got sick on the phone. I had to call Blake and…damn, poor Axelle.”
“I should’ve been here,” I mumble to myself. “I never should’ve left.”
“Nothing you could’ve done, man.”
“She told me to leave and I listened. Why did I listen?” I pace the length of the room. “She needed me, and I didn’t even leave her a number to get in touch with me.”
“She had it.”
I freeze and whip my gaze to him. “What?”
“I gave it to her. She had it.”
“Why didn’t she—?”
He laughs, but the sound is more sad than happy. “She told me you’re too smart to give up your future for her.”
“She’s wrong.”
“That’s what I said.” He huffs out a breath. “Then she said, even if you’d tried to give it up, she’d never let you.”
“She didn’t. She made me go to London. I should’ve stayed in touch. Fuck! I should’ve grown a pair and stayed in contact.”
“What’s done is done, brother.”
“It’s not done.” I stare intently at him. “This shit is far from fucking done.”
~*~
Axelle
“Make sure to double up on your water tonight. I went pretty deep to loosen that spasm in your lower back.” I wash my hands and hear the gentle hum of Cameron’s breathing. I turn away from the sink, wiping my hands. “Cam, wake up.”
His big body jerks on the table, and I quickly turn my back on him again. It’s not uncommon for some of the guys to doze off during a massage, but some of them tend to jump up when they wake, and being naked under the sheet has created a very uncomfortable situation more times than I can count.
“Sorry, kiddo.” The sheets rustle behind me followed by a groan. “You loosened up my back.” The awe in his voice makes me grin. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
I make my way for the door so he can get up and dressed. “Don’t forget to drink plenty of—”
“Water. I know.”
The sated sound of his voice fills me with pride. Cameron Kyle is never relaxed, at least, not that I’ve ever seen outside of the massage room.
My fingers hesitate on the door lock. After my short talk with Killian, he stayed, staring at me between clients. Then he was gone. I want to kick myself for wishing it, but a large part of me wants him there when I walk out.
I hold my breath and open the door. My eyes scan the warehouse-like gym, but there’s no sign of him.
He’s gone.
No sign of him or his girlfriend and the man he came here with.
Girlfriend.
The word spoils in my gut.
Why does she have to be so beautiful? And her accent! French is called a romance language for a reason. When she spoke, it was like sex dripped from every syllable. I bet she whispers all sorts of naughty things to him, and it drives him wild—no! No. I refuse to torture myself any more than I already have.
Cameron shuffles from the room and smiles. “Hiring you was the best thing I’ve ever done.”
I stand a little taller under his approval. “Thank you for giving me the chance.”
“You’ve got a gift, kid.” His eyes regain their focus. “How much longer you stayin’ tonight?”
“An hour.”
“Looks like most everyone’s gone home, so I’ll walk you to your car when you’re ready.”
I bite my lips and hold my eyes to keep them from rolling to the sky. I realized fighting the whole bodyguard thing was not only a huge waste of my time, but also a waste of energy. I can barely walk to the bathroom without a damn escort, thanks to Clifford. Asshole. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”
“Good.” He slaps me on the shoulder with fatherly approval then ambles off to the locker room.
Finished for the day, my back and arms ache. Too bad there’s not a masseuse for the masseuse. I strip the sheets from the table, disinfect, and restock my products then head to the women’s locker room to change into my workout clothes.
I realized just a few weeks into my new career that lifting weights to strengthen my muscles and stretching them out after my shift lessens the soreness. It’s a pain in the ass when all I want to do is go home and crash in front of the television, but I know once I’m done I’ll be grateful I did it.
It’ll also help for me to work through my conflicting feelings toward Killian. In some ways, I’m happy he’s back. The urge to run into his arms and never leave is nearly irresistible. But then I remember how he took off without a single phone call. For a year, he severed all ties. Now he shows up in his designer clothes with his fancy-talking friends, and I’ve never felt more distant. We used to be so much alike, or at least I thought so. This new UFL star Killer “Quick Kill” McCreery I don’t know at all. Sure, there was a flash of the old him in there somewhere, but it felt like this last year had built an impenetrable wall between us.
One we’ll never get through.
I peel off my black leggings and pull on some spandex shorts along with a bright orange tank that says “Woman Up.” I redo my ponytail, making this one higher and tighter, then grab my phone and earbuds. I have three missed calls and four new texts, all from what I recognize as Killian’s London number.
I pop in my earbuds, hit “play” on my high-energy workout playlist, and then open the new text while moving through the training center to the weight room.
We need to talk. Call me.
Then another one two minutes later.
I’m sorry. Please, call me.
And thirty minutes later.
Can we get together? I need to see you.
And finally.
I talked to Ryder.
My feet become cemented to the floor. “Shit.” Ryder must’ve told him about Clifford. Heat rises to my cheeks.
I’ve been told a bazillion times that it’s not my fault, that I have nothing to be embarrassed for, but it’s all bullshit. I made horrible choices and faced the consequences. I’ve paid for my sins and pulled myself up to start fresh. I’m sure Killian is looking for answers, but I’ve put the past behind me.
I take a fortifying breath and continue on to the weight room. When I shove through the weight room doors, I find the object of my thoughts rooted to a weight bench. His hair and skin are damp with sweat, and his eyes firmly fix on me.
“What are you doing here?” The question comes out like an accusation.
He slides his gaze slowly from my shoes, up my legs, lingering on my shorts before moving to my chest, neck, more lingering at my lips, and finally settling on my eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing?” His voice is husky and a shadow of anger tinges his face.
“Oh my God, are you waiting for me?”
He chuckles and drops his chin to stare at the floor. “Don’t do that.”
I step further into the room as the heat of frustration spreads through me. “Do what? Call you out? First, you sit outside my door, staring, no, glaring at me between clients, and now you’re here after hours and alone, waiting for me like some kind of stalker—”
“Don’t!” He shoots to his feet, wearing a sleeveless shirt. I can see the muscles of his arms flex. “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to him.” He spits out the three-letter word like it’s a four-letter one, and I cringe, not needing clarification to know who he’s referring to. “You should’ve told me!”
My face burns and tears sting the backs of my eyes.
His fists flex and un-flex as if he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “I’ve been in here for hours, trying to work this off, and—fuck!” He tosses his sweaty towel so hard it makes a whipping sound through the air. His stony expression softens, and the sorrow in his eyes breaks me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid—”
“Of what?” He tosses an arm out. “Of him?” He beats on his chest with a closed fist. “I never would’ve let him hurt you. Never!”
“No, not him, I was afraid that if I told you how bad things were you’d come home.”
He narrows his eyes. “Of course I’d come home. You were always mine to protect, you know that.” His shoulders slump as if all the fight has been knocked out of him. “He knew that I left, that you were vulnerable, and he attacked.” He reaches under a bench and flips it upside down. “Fuck!”
I jump back, startled by his anger. “That’s just it. You would’ve walked away from your dreams to clean up my mess. I couldn’t let you do that.”
“That’s not your decision to make, Axelle. You took my choices away from me where we were concerned.” He closes the space between us and cups my face in his hands, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “I love you, don’t you see that? I’ve spent my entire adult life loving you.” His hands gentle. “Nothing has changed.”
My eyes slide closed at the beauty and pain of his words. “Everything has changed, Kill.”
He shakes me gently. “No. Don’t say that. How can you say that?”
“We’re not the same people we were a year ago.”
He swipes my cheekbone with his thumb. “Maybe we’re better.”
“I live with my parents, Kill. You’re an international celebrity, and I’m twenty-one years old and working at my very first job, ever.”
“You had a rough year; that’s understandable.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “So you, did you…?” He licks his lips. “You lost the baby?”
“Yeah.” My heart still aches when I think about it; my mind often drifts to all the unanswerable what-ifs.
His arms wrap around me, my cheek presses against his sweaty shirt, and as much as I should be a little grossed out by it, I’m not. I wrap my arms around his middle and allow him to hold me close because, for those few seconds our bodies are pressed together, it feels like he’s right. That nothing has changed between us.
“You never should’ve gone through that alone,” he whispers against the top of my head, pulling me from the place we were just a couple of nights before he left for London.
I step back and out of his arms, needing the space to think straight. “I didn’t. Mom and Blake were there.” I lean back on the weight rack, but Killian rights the weight bench he tossed and offers it to me. I sit on it, and he takes the one just a couple of feet away. “I thought that was it, ya know? That I’d lost the only connection I had to Clifford and he’d leave me alone. The only problem was he didn’t believe I was really pregnant to begin with.”
Killian’s brows drop low and anger boils behind his eyes.
“When I told him, he accused me of lying, like I was trying to sucker him into a relationship.” I laugh at the absurdity of it now. “I lost the baby before I really started showing, so naturally it seemed to confirm his assumptions and the harassment got worse.”
“Why didn’t you go to the cops?”
“Because I was sick of being everyone else’s problem. I got myself into the mess. I wanted to get myself out. I was also humiliated. Half my professors now know what I look like naked, thanks to the photos Clifford posted all over campus.
“I didn’t tell anyone, not even my mom. Then one night when I was babysitting Jack and Mindy was out, someone broke into our apartment. He cut up my bed, my clothes, broke everything, didn’t steal anything though. I called the cops, and they didn’t find any suspicious fingerprints. But he left one of those pictures on my nightstand. I told the cops about it, which was”—my entire body blushes with the memory—“so embarrassing.”
“Did they lock the fucker up?”
“I couldn’t prove that the photo came from him rather than from one of the many I found and picked up at school. I told them I didn’t keep the ones I found at school. I destroyed them as soon as I’d found them. They said they believed me but they couldn’t prove it and suggested I get a restraining order.” I shrug. “Once Blake found out…” I cringe, remembering his fit of rage. “You can imagine.”
“How is this asshole still breathing?”
“Get this…” I lean forward, elbows to my knees. “You can’t kill someone for harassment. Go figure.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“There he is…” I point to his mouth. “I see you in there, Killian McCreery.”
He covers his face with one hand, peeking through his fingers. “Oh no…is my nerd showing?”
“A little.” I giggle.
“That’s not good. Ya know I have a rather studly reputation.”
“Oh, don’t think I missed it. Your”—I do air quotes—“reputation takes up half the state of Nevada.”
“Aww, Ax, baby.” He grins all crooked and cocky and breathtaking. “Jealousy isn’t your color.”
I fake pout. “That’s not the color of jealousy, Kill. That’s disgust.”
His jaw drops in mock offense. “Oh yeah?” He holds both arms up and flexes. “How’s this for disgust.”
I lean back and yawn, exaggerating by patting my hand to my mouth. “Excuse me, whew. I just suddenly got so bored.”
He coughs out a laugh, and I grin at how good it feels to have him back like this, realizing now how much I missed it.
His smile falls, and his amber eyes become thoughtful. “I want to see you again. What are your plans tomorrow?”
“I’m booked tomorrow from ten to four.”
He frowns. “All day, huh?”
“We can meet for breakfast.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. I promised Fleur I’d take her to hike Red Rock Canyon, and I have to be back in time for a nine o’clock meeting with my publicist.”
Yep, I was right; everything has changed.
And his girlfriend. God, Axelle.
I jump up from the bench and press my fingertips to my forehead. “I’m so stupid.”
He must sense my change in demeanor and stands up too. “Hey, maybe we can get together after you’re done? You said four, right? I can—crap. I have a meeting at three-thirty. Who knows how long that’ll last?”
I wave him off, backing toward the door. “Don’t worry. We’ll, uh… We’ll figure it—oh!” I scream when the door behind me opens and slams into my back.
“Fuckin’ hell, Axelle.” Cameron grabs me by my shoulders to steady me. “Are you okay?”
I rub the ache in my back, my eyes darting between the worried eyes of the two men before me. “Fine. I’m fine. Perfect timing though, I was just coming to get you.”
“Already?” Cam’s glare tightens. “You sure you’re okay?”
Killian’s gaze tangles with mine for a few seconds, confusion working behind his eyes.
“Of course. I’m great.”
And then, as if I’m being chased by zombies, I run to the locker room, grab my shit, and meet Cameron in the lobby.
I’m looking over my shoulder to see if Killian is still here, when Cam’s phone rings.
“What?” He opens the door for me to walk through it. “Yeah, I just talked to him.” I point to where my car is parked, and he nods for me to lead the way. “I agree. I think it’s a smart move.” He stands there while I throw my bag into the back, and I wave him off as I climb into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t leave though; they never do, insisting on standing guard until I’m safely out of the lot. “I just signed an indefinite lease on the penthouse in London.” I freeze, eavesdropping on the conversation. “Yep. Killer’s meeting with his publicist tomorrow to handle the announcement. He’ll head back next week.”
It isn’t until Cam mouths you okay? that I realize I’m staring blankly at him. I force a smile and slam my door.
Killian’s going back to London.
I’m losing him again.