Chapter Five
Brooklyn
My stomach had been in knots all day, and every time I caught a glimpse of Shane Knox—yeah, I’d done some digging and found out his name—my insides twisted tighter.
Several excuses ran through my head, ones I wanted to present him with so my guilt might ease up a bit. There was the one about how I was having a bad day. Another about how it’d just come out wrong, and I hadn’t meant it. Since that wasn’t true, I decided to toss it. The truth was, Shane was clearly a well-trained fighter, but with an edge only people who’d been street-fighters before stepping inside a gym, ring, or cage had. I’d noticed it yesterday in the way he fought, and in addition to making me sort of wary of him, yeah, it’d made me more judgmental than I should’ve been.
Which led me to my next excuse: I’ve known a lot of fighters in my day, and in my experience, the cocky young ones are the most dangerous of the species. Smooth lines that mess with your head and manipulate your emotions, devil-may-care attitude, and intensely driven. That fire often transferred to other areas, and if you were the one standing near the flames, watch out. I’d been burned by one in particular, and I felt so stupid, because I’d seen my mom go through the same thing with my dad. I’d judged her, too, telling myself I’d never stand for being treated the way she was, and it came back to bite me in the ass.
At least I didn’t take years to leave. Not that it really made a difference to my heart.
The good news was, Mom had learned from her past, the way I’d learned from mine. After the divorce, she moved to Arizona to be near her sister, where she eventually met a shy software engineer—a guy pretty much the opposite of Dad in every single way—who made her happy. They’d gotten married a couple of years ago, and we kept in touch through texts and calls.
Using the ancient keyboard that had definitely had some kind of sticky substance spilled on it, I entered the last few numbers for the expenses spreadsheet. The one for three months ago that should’ve been done then. I rolled my neck and then rubbed at my tired eyes. My gaze skimmed over the remaining piles of envelopes I still had to sort, and I knew it would get messier before it got better.
Seriously, how could they not notice the piles? Or check on the books at least once in the past five months? When I’d asked that question, the three men in my life gave shrugs while mumbling about being super busy.
I’d turned to Dad. “You used to go above and beyond checking the books. I remember you yelling at me about the figures and having to then explain I hadn’t had a chance to balance everything yet. What happened?”
“Someone told me I needed to let some of it go.”
“That was when I was here.”
He threw up his hands. “Yeah, and then you left and look what happened.”
I didn’t even know what to say to that. I wanted to explode in anger, but Finn had put his hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him. “After his surgery to remove the tumor, we all got behind, and things fell through the cracks. He’s glad that you’re here now to help, though, aren’t you, Dad?”
“Of course I am,” Dad said. He was super good at expressing his emotions when someone else fed them to him.
“So I know the books and bills are a mess and that we’ve put you in a tight spot, and we’re all sorry about that. But you can fix it and get us back on track, right?” Finn asked it with such hope and belief in me, and Dad was staring while Liam remained on the far side of the couch doing his stoic thing.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “It’s going to take me several weeks to sort through the mess and see what exactly needs fixing…”
Eyebrows arched higher and everyone leaned closer—or maybe it just felt like that when I’d been on the spot. “I’ll do my best to make sure everything’s balanced and up and running before I head back to San Francisco.”
There hadn’t been cheers, but I’d gotten a huge grin from Finn, a relieved expression from Liam, and another cough-inducing pat on the back from Dad.
Silly me, I’d thought that I would at least be able to sneak in a few hours of painting near the beach while I was here for the summer. But as usual, my “hobby” took last place. Sometimes I wished I didn’t have mad math and organization skills.
A blessing and a curse, I tell you.
The figures onscreen swam together for several seconds before I forced my eyes to refocus, and I decided it was time to call it a day.
I shut down the computer, and as it whirred and complained about it, I said, “Just so you know, I’m never going to use you again, you POS.”
I stretched, retrieved my purse and keys, and headed out the back door. I locked it, double-checking I’d done it right before heading for my car.
The dark figure that stepped out of the shadows made me jump, and I quickly arranged my keys between my fingers, all my self-defense training flashing through my head.
“It’s just me.” Shane held up his hands and stepped into the light. “Or maybe that doesn’t give you very much comfort, considering you think I’m a thug who regularly commits grand theft auto.”
“I don’t think that.” I slowly lowered my hand, although I didn’t completely relax my stance. Taking on a random Joe on the street was one thing, but I didn’t delude myself into thinking I could take on a professional fighter, no problem. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t fight with everything I had in me if it came down to it, and my adrenaline was spiking, just in case.
He zipped up his black leather jacket, and of course it was the well-worn, zippered kind that transformed its wearer from hot to sexy badass. “After today’s training session, I met a buddy for dinner a few blocks down, so I just came back for my bike.”
That must be his motorcycle nestled back in the corner, not easily spotted from the road, I assumed to prevent it from being stolen. “Motorcycle, leather jacket—you’re only one tattoo or piercing away from the bad boy starter kit.”
He didn’t smile, so clearly my attempt at lightening the vibe between us with a joke went over like an anvil to the head. “I already have one of those two things,” he said. “I’ll leave you to wonder which one and where. I’m sure your stubborn nature will prevent you from asking.”
I swallowed. “Probably. I…” I scuffed my shoe against the tarmac. I’d always sucked at apologizing. I’d taken one of those personality tests, and it claimed that since I used logic to reach conclusions, as opposed to other people who used emotions, one of my biggest flaws was never admitting when I was wrong. I liked to think it was because I never was wrong, but I knew that wasn’t fair, and…well, possibly I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion once or twice in my life. “Look, I shouldn’t have said what I did, and I’m sorry.”
He glanced around and then put on a superfluous confused expression as he pointed to himself. “Me? I can’t be sure, because you didn’t say my name.”
I rolled my eyes and then bit my tongue, since calling someone a jackass as you apologized seemed counterintuitive. “Yes, you.”
He rolled his finger. “Come on. I’m sure you know my name by now.”
I knew a lot more than his name. I’d read up on his fast rise and subsequent fall in the MMA world. It was a sad story, one that happened a lot, and one I’m sure he would rather I not bring up. I already had one apology to get through and it was going to max me out anyway. “I’m sorry about earlier. Shane.”
He looked way too pleased with himself, but then the humor drained from his expression. “It’s fine. Forget about it.”
The excuses I’d decided I wouldn’t use spewed from my mouth. “It’s just that I’ve seen more cocky, self-entitled fighters come through the doors of the gym than I can count, and I can count pretty damn high.”
He stepped past me, his gaze on the motorcycle. “You see, when an apology is accepted, you don’t need to keep defending yourself, or explain how you weren’t really wrong by lumping me in with every other fighter you’ve met.” He straddled his bike, and offense pinched my gut.
“Fine, I won’t lump you in with them, especially since it’s taken all of one day to see that you take cocky to the next level, and that you’re more aggravating than most fighters I’ve met. Feel special now?”
“Like a fucking snowflake.” The bike dipped with his weight as he kick-started it and the engine roared to life. He rolled right up to me, the tire dangerously close to my foot, and raised his voice over the sound of the engine. “Go get in your car so I can go home.”
I lowered my eyebrows. “How does me getting in my car have anything to do with you going home?”
He exhaled, nice and loud, making sure I understood how much I exhausted him. “Because, if some thug with bad intentions comes along, and he’s not as friendly or patient as I am, and then your dad and brothers find out I left you alone in a dark parking lot, they’ll take me out to the woods and bury my body where no one will ever find it.” He made the shooing motion I’d used on him this morning, and said, “Now, off you go.”
The urge to punch him in his stupid handsome face made me open and close the fist at my side, my keys rattling against my palm. So nice how he’d implied that he didn’t give a shit if I got hurt unless my family found out and made him pay. The joke was on him, because I could mention something to Liam about his training seeming lax and he’d make Shane wish for death.
I gritted my teeth in an over-the-top smile. “At least I wasn’t wrong about you being an ass.”
He shook his head and cupped his ear like he couldn’t hear me, even though I knew he had.
Ugh, I’d felt bad all day for this jerk—what a waste of time. With today solidly in the sufficiently shitty column, I was over it. I climbed in my car, revved the engine to prove that between the two of our vehicles, mine had the better growl, and then I made a wide turn, missing him by mere inches.
As I drove away, I told myself not to let some conceited prick I didn’t even know get to me. I caught his reflection in my rearview mirror, all decked out in black, his helmet now on as he sped in the opposite direction, and a weird, heavy sensation I didn’t understand pushed against my chest.
I never should’ve come back.