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I flip the cell screen off. I want to drive home in peace with the essence of my mother sitting alongside me. I pat the seat cushion, praying her DNA touches my fingers. I know that’s all I have left of her. It will have to be enough.
The entire way home, I fight back tears of anger, frustration, and regret. I’m weighed down by so many issues, with so many people. How can I have all this baggage at such a young age?
Then I hear a whisper in my head, or I think it’s in my head. It’s my mom’s voice.
To fight and to lose causes regrets. But to not fight at all is a wasted life. Fight.
Tears flow down my cheeks. I blink over and over, wishing human eyeballs had wipers. Cars and lights fly by me, a kaleidoscope mix of light and sound. The motor hum soothes me some. No music, no radio. Just me, the motor, and the ticking of my mom’s watch on my wrist.
As my adrenaline dissipates, I start to breathe easier and see clearer. The overreacting wanes and I feel a bit foolish. But not enough to care or to apologize to anyone on this mortal coil.
I finally reach my street and pull into the drive.
My bed awaits. Thank God.
My headlights catch a vision. It’s Mac, standing alongside his car. God knows how long he has been waiting in my drive. If I hadn’t ignored his messages, maybe I wouldn’t be caught by surprise right now.
Before I reach the front door, he lets the question fly.
The anxiety, the overreacting, the stress, and the exhaustion pounce on me once more and I forget to breathe.
Mac looks straight into my eyes. “When were you going to tell me about Disastra?”
CHAPTER 24
Ronan
Training is the one activity that can take me away from my troubles. To practice my footwork. To ricochet from rope to rope. To see in my mind’s eye my opponent. In the ring, the foe is clear. Outside the ring, not so much.
My head is down, gauging my marks. I don’t hear others working out in the gym or coming in through the front door. That’s a usual occurrence for me. But this time, my lack of awareness sets me right up for the ambush that comes next.
“Bronson! Yeah, over here, kid. When you take over, you really take over. Well, I’m here to set you straight. There are limits, and you’re about to get schooled.”
Out of my right ear, I hear yelling, but it takes a moment to figure out that it’s aimed at me. I look up and across the gym. It’s Chey’s father, Joseph. By his red face and menacing stare, I know this is no friendly chat that he’s come to have.
My body and mind break out of training mode. I grab a towel from the corner stool to soak up the sweat and give myself time to gauge his intentions.
“Good to see you, Mr. O’Malley. What’s on your mind?”
Joseph wastes no time. He marches right up to the ropes, climbs into the ring, and gets into my personal space. I slowly back away in deference to the old man. After all, he’s Chey’s father and hopefully my future boss. I want no beef with this man.
“Don’t you play innocent with me. I was a fool to think I could trust you. But now I know what you’ve been doing with my Cheyanne. The game is manipulative and disgusting, and it’s going to stop here and now.”
I wipe away more sweat beads purling down my furrowed brow, trying to eke out a few more moments to figure out what the hell this guy is talking about.
Manipulative? Disgusting? What the hell is this guy on about?
My mind races through the possibilities and comes up with nothing. I drop the towel on the stool and pick up my water bottle. Whatever is going on, Joseph’s confrontation is making me parched.
“Game, sir? I assure you. I’m playing no game. Not with your Cheyanne. Not with anyone.”
Joseph crosses his arms high on his chest and pushes further into my personal space. I have no more room to back up.
“Oh, so bedding my daughter isn’t a game then? What do you call it when a guy offers to train a trusting female wrestler, but he ends up in her bed? You don’t count that as vile? I sure as hell do.”
I slide to the right to get out from under his cornering me. I stand in the center ring and carefully look Joeseph over. The old man’s confrontation finally makes sense, only I know he’s got the wrong end of the stick concerning Chey and me.
Of all the complications I thought would come out of Cheyanne and I turning up the romance, this is one I really hadn’t prepared for. I mean, I know I’m not using her for sex, and I never once stopped to think about her father’s reaction. I worried about what it would do to our working relationship, sure, but this? Never in a million years did I stop to think about pissing off Joseph.
