Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 18

  Pathetic. The familiar sneer resonated through his mind to the tune of his father’s voice like it was yesterday. And suddenly he was a twelve-year-old kid again. Standing in the hall, frozen outside his father’s hospital room, he prayed the nurse wouldn’t come out and find him here like this. Taking a deep breath, he dropped his head and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping this was just some fucked-up nightmare and any minute he’d wake up.

  “You stay the fuck away from my pecker with that tube! You hear me?”

  A moment later a nurse rushed out the door and nearly barreled right into him. The door was open just far enough, and long enough, for Regan’s eyes to lock onto his father’s. Surprise momentarily registered on both sides before the door separating them was pulled shut. Nausea rolled through his gut. He felt like he was going to puke.

  This was the first time he’d seen that son of a bitch in seven years, and he wished to God it had been seven more. Raw emotion he hadn’t expected to feel—emotion he thought long dead and buried—came barreling up in him with the force of a freight train. He took a step back to steady himself, his thoughts rioting inside his head so loudly he barely heard his father’s voice calling from behind the door. “Regan! Is that you?”

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse who nearly ran into him apologized. “Are you Mr. Matthews?”

  The twelve-year-old in him wanted to deny it and turn right the fuck around and walk out that door, but the fighter in him refused to be cowed by this man anymore. Putting a lid on his emotional shit, he stood straight, squared his shoulders, and folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah, are you the nurse who called me?”

  “Who in the hell called him?” his father’s voice boomed. “I never said you could call him!”

  The nurse took Regan’s arm and led him farther down the hall, away from all the ranting. Holy shit, it was déjà vu all over again.

  “Thank you for coming down here, Mr. Matthews.”

  “Regan,” he corrected her. “As you can see, this isn’t going to go down well. Clearly, he doesn’t want me here anymore than I want to be here. I don’t know what you want me to tell you. He’s a drunk. He’s always been a fucking drunk, and he’ll always be a fucking drunk.”

  She winced, but he wasn’t sure if it was out of pity or in response to his profanity. “He’s dying,” she told him.

  And then he knew. Yep, it was pity, and didn’t he feel like an asshole for failing to muster the proper amount of give a shit. He wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but clearly he needed to give her some sort of response other than just staring at her. “My father died a long time ago. What do you need from me?”

  “Well . . .” She shifted uncomfortably. “We need to know how to proceed. He’s intoxicated and refusing treatment. Also, his liver is failing, which is causing his ammonia levels to get dangerously high. This is contributing to his altered mental status, so he is not competent to make his own medical decisions and cannot legally refuse treatment.”

  “So what are you asking me? You want me to decide whether to withhold treatment? Are you asking me to give you permission to let him die?”

  “It’s called hospice, Mr. Matthews. It’s when someone reaches the end of life, and we take measures to make them comfortable during their passing. Or we can take a more aggressive approach and try to give him more time. But as he is now, he can’t make that decision for himself, and unfortunately he had no advanced healthcare directive on file.”

  Regan was trying hard to follow what she was saying, but it was a lot to take in surrounded by the cacophony of, “Regan, you little shit, don’t you fucking leave me in here! You goddamn prick! This is all your fault! I called you every night, and you couldn’t even pick up the fucking phone.”

  “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t mean it,” the nurse offered softly, placing a sympathetic hand on his arm.

  “Yes, he does. He’s always meant it. I don’t know what to tell you. Do everything. Do nothing. I don’t fucking know.” He shook his head and closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest. The nurse stood there quietly, letting him process it all.

  “I’ll give you some time.”

  He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, maybe a few minutes. Then he felt a small hand slip into his and give a reassuring squeeze. He opened his eyes, surprised to see Willow staring up at him with tears in her eyes. His heart stuttered inside his chest. Having her here, eyeing him with an unspoken knowledge and soul-deep understanding that nobody else in this world could possibly offer him right now, fucking shattered him.

  She began to blur as his eyes burned. He wouldn’t do it, he vowed. He would not let her see him cry. All these years, he’d never let that bastard break him, and he’d be damned if he let it happen now. Without saying a word, he pulled Willow into his arms and held onto the woman who had become his lifeline.

  Regan buried his face into the side of Willow’s neck, his breath leaving his lungs in a jerking exhale that racked his shoulders. He couldn’t draw another. His lungs refused to work, his chest crushed with the weight of loss and regret. Squeezing his eyes shut, tears escaped, and he was helpless to fight them any longer.

  The moment she felt the hot moisture against her skin, the shudder of Regan’s wide, muscular shoulders collapsing in defeat, Willow clung to him, holding him harder than she’d ever held on before. As much as his grief broke her heart, she would stay strong for him.

  She’d never seen Regan break before, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t terrify her a little bit. But he would get through this. They would get through this together. She didn’t speak, knowing from experience that sometimes there were just no words more comforting than silence. Several minutes passed before his breathing returned to normal and his grip on her lightened.

  Letting her go, he straightened to his full height and drew a deep breath. “How did you get away?” he asked, clearing his throat from unshed tears and dragging his thumb beneath his eyes.

  “I told Kyle I was spending the night at Melanie’s. I told the girls I needed to go—they understood. The boys were still tailgating and didn’t seem to mind. I wouldn’t have lied to Kyle, but I just couldn’t let you come here and face this alone.”

  “The nurse wants me to tell them what to do—treat him or put him in hospice. She says he’s too sick to make his own decisions.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Before he could answer, the nurse came back, also wanting to know what he’d decided.

  “Do you need more time?” the nurse asked.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. Do whatever you have to do to get him well enough to make his own decisions. Then he can sign his own hospice orders.”

  “All right. Would you like to see him before you go?”

  “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’ve heard enough.”

  They turned to leave, and Willow heard shouting through the door of one of the rooms.

  “Regan! I know you’re out there, you sorry-sack-of-shit excuse for a son!”

  She felt Regan tense, his steps momentarily faltering. Her gaze darted to his, but nothing in his expression gave away his thoughts or what he must have been feeling. For a moment, she wondered if he would enter that room. But then the yelling started up again and so did his steps as he led her away.

  “It’s not my fault,” his dad shouted. “I didn’t mean to do it!”

  “Regan, what’s he talking about? What didn’t he mean to do?”

  “Who the fuck knows,” he responded, his hands slamming into the door release with enough force to send it rocketing into the wall. “I don’t even fucking care anymore,” he growled as she hastened her pace to a jog in order to keep up with Regan’s powerful stride.

  Chapter 19

  You want me to take you home?”

  Not really . . . Kyle wasn’t expecting her home tonight, but she didn’t want to be presumptuous and invite herself over, nor did she want to
leave Regan alone. She felt terrible for him and wished there was something she could do to ease the pain he must be feeling, but he was too much an expert at disguising his emotions to ever let them show.

  Willow wanted to go home with him. She couldn’t think of a better birthday present than spending the night in Regan’s arms. She felt bad about lying to Kyle, though, and under any other circumstances wouldn’t have done it. Until now, they were guilty of nothing but omission—sneaking around and seeing each other whenever they could, but they weren’t outright lying about it.

  That was one of Regan’s stipulations when he’d agreed to give her time before telling Kyle about them—they wouldn’t lie to be together—and she’d broken that promise tonight to be here for him. She knew what was coming. He was going to want to tell Kyle now, but as many times as she’d played this scenario out in her head, she couldn’t see it ending well for any of them. She knew how much Regan needed Kyle, and vice versa, and she dreaded becoming the wedge that drove them apart.

  “If it’s all right, I’d like to stay with you.” She reached over and laid her hand on his thigh. “You shouldn’t be alone, Regan.”

  He frowned at her, the regret in his eyes clearly visible now. “I’m used to it, Willow. You want to know what the saddest thing is? I don’t even care. Maybe my father is right. I am a horrible fucking son because I found out he’s dying and all I can think is thank God it’s finally going to be over soon.”

  “You not a horrible son, Regan. You’re an amazing man and an incredible fighter who’s had to endure an unspeakable amount of physical pain and emotional suffering at the hands of a man whose job it was to love and protect you. This isn’t your fault, none of it, and you can’t blame yourself for not feeling the way you think you should.”

  “I’m sorry I ruined your birthday. You don’t need to be burdened with my shit.”

  “You didn’t ruin my birthday. I’m with you and there’s no place else I’d rather be. You want to know where I spent the day?”

  He glanced at her and nodded before turning his attention back to the road, taking the exit that would lead them to his house.

  “The same place I’ve spent my birthday for the last five years—the cemetery. Don’t get me wrong. I love what Kyle did for me tonight. It was super sweet and thoughtful, and I loved seeing everyone. It’s just that nothing will ever be the same again, you know? And most days I’ve learned to be okay with that—just not today.”

  He reached for her hand and laced their fingers before bringing the back of her knuckles to his lips and whispering, “I know . . .”

  And she knew in her heart that he truly did. Regan knew what she’d been through better than anyone else in the world—even Kyle.

  In her attempt to spare her brother additional anguish, she’d kept the worst of her trauma from him. He didn’t know about the nightmares or the panic attacks, but Regan did. After their parents had been killed, Kyle was so overwhelmed by his own grief he could barely function himself, let alone take care of her. Regan had temporarily moved into the spare bedroom to help Kyle get everything sorted out. She’d lost count of how many nights during those first few months that she’d woken up sobbing to find herself being held tightly in Regan’s arms as he rocked her back and forth and promised her everything was going to be all right.

  Neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive back to his place, each caught up in their own thoughts, their own memories.

  “I’ll take you back to the hospital in the morning to get your car,” he told her as he pulled into the driveway. They hadn’t discussed leaving her car behind. Maybe subconsciously neither one of them thought it would be a good idea to have her car sitting in Regan’s driveway for the night.

  “I have to be at class by nine.”

  He nodded and climbed out. “I’m meeting Kyle at ten, so that’ll work.” He waited for her to get out before engaging the security system. The lights flashed and the car chirped behind them as she followed him up the front steps. Regan unlocked the door and held it open for her to enter. Closing it behind him, he set the lock. She’d only been to his place a handful of times with Kyle, but never alone that she could remember. Standing here now, she felt a flutter of nervous excitement in her stomach.

  His place was more of a modest studio design, well below his pay grade. Regan was a high-earning fighter, but he’d never been the kind of guy that flaunted his wealth. He wasn’t into luxury, except when it came to his car. A breakfast bar separated the kitchen and dining room. The living room was a step down, and she knew a short hall led to a bathroom and spare bedroom on the right, and a master bedroom with bath was on the left. He kept his place clean, but it lacked the warmth of a woman’s touch. A splash of color and a few throw pillows would go a long way in cozying it up.

  “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to grab a quick shower.”

  She watched him cross the living room and disappear down the hall. The butterflies in her stomach moved lower. Was it wrong of her to want him in spite of what he was going through? She didn’t want to be insensitive, but maybe he could use the distraction. Maybe he wouldn’t mind her taking the initiative to claim the birthday present he’d promised her earlier. Perhaps she could give him comfort, because God knows he was hurting, whether he’d admit it or not.

  She’d yet to fully explore his body the way he had hers. And now was the perfect chance without the worry of interruption. Hearing the door close and the shower start up, Willow took a few more minutes working up her courage before following him down the hall.

  By the time she reached the bathroom door, her heart was hammering nervously inside her chest. This is crazy. It’s just Regan. But it was Regan, and she’d never done anything like this before. Again, her insecurities needled at her. What if she made a fool of herself? What if it was glaringly obvious she had no idea what she was doing? What if he wanted to be left alone?

  She tested the doorknob, half-praying it would be locked and the decision would be made for her. It wasn’t. Had he been hoping she’d join him? You’re overthinking this, Willow. Just go for it. She quietly turned the knob, trying to keep her presence unknown in case she chickened out at the last minute.

  Slipping inside, she got an inhale of the clean, masculine scent of Regan’s shower gel. It was like foreplay to her senses and boosted her courage to move farther inside. She silently closed the door and removed her top, her nipples tingling with anticipation, her breasts heavy from arousal as she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. After letting it slip down her arms and fall to the floor, she unfastened her jeans and hooked the waistband with her thumbs, shimmying them over her hips. After stepping out of her pant legs, she walked over to the shower and slid the glass door open.

  At the sight of him, her breath caught in her throat. His back was to her, giving Willow her first full head-to-toe view of Regan’s naked backside, and good Lord was he gorgeous. Arms up, lathering his hair, his legs were slightly parted giving her a teasing glimpse of his male flesh. Even unaroused, he hung at an impressive length, and she canted her head to the side, taking a moment to enjoy the view. His muscles rolled and flexed as he moved, stepping beneath the spray to rinse the suds from his hair. A whitewash of shampoo sluiced down his spine, drawing her gaze to his narrow waist. His ass was sheer masculine perfection, with those muscled dimples she itched to sink her nails into. He was tall and lean, his legs long and sculpted—he was mouthwatering—and he was hers.

  Her breath quickened, and moisture bloomed between her legs. She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth to bite back the wanton moan curling up her throat. Regan must have heard her because he spun around.

  “Holy fuck!”

  Holy fuck was right. It took a whole two seconds for his cock to go from relaxed to rock hard, the look in his eyes to go from shocked to unadulterated lust. He dragged his hands through his hair, leaving it standing on end in wild disarray as the shower’s spray continued to beat onto his chest. />
  “Willow, what are you doing?”

  “Watching you.”

  His vibrant green eyes locked on her. Feasting, was more like it as he scrubbed a restless hand over the back of his neck. She could see every muscle in his body straining. He looked ready to snap. Biting out a sharp curse, he reached for her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into the shower with him. The hot spray beat on her back as Regan’s mouth came down on hers, his tongue tangling, possessing. He slipped his hand into her hair and angled her head to the side. The sharpness of his teeth blended with the suction of his mouth against her neck, pulling a soft mewl from her lips and a masculine chortle of satisfaction from his throat.

  “You like watching me?” he growled against her ear.

  The tone of his voice hinted at something more. Would she like to watch him? She didn’t know. She imagined him touching himself and felt the ache between her legs intensify. She was still discovering what she liked, but she thought maybe she would. There were a lot of things she thought she might like to try with Regan.

  “Yes,” she whispered and Regan thrust his tongue into her mouth. She moaned at the erotic dance, returning his kiss with wicked abandon.

  His grip on her hair tightened, and he tore his mouth away from hers, spinning her around so her back was pressed against his chest and they were facing a wall of mirrors. Bending his head, he whispered. “Does my girl want to watch me fuck her?”

  Her breath quickened to a pant, and she nodded, her hair tugging against his grip. Regan’s face was next to hers, their eyes meeting in the reflection. It shocked Willow to see herself. She hardly recognized the naked woman standing there, her face flushed with desire, head tipped back just enough to expose the column of her throat.

  Regan towered over her, one hand tangled in her hair while the other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tight against his hard, muscled body. She watched in the reflection as his hand rose and enveloped her breast, fingers curling as he squeezed, trapping her nipple between his thumb and index finger. Her eyes flared with the jolt of pain and pleasure arrowing through her.