Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 27

  The door swung open, and when she saw Regan standing there, she almost lost it again. She needed him to hold her, to tell her she’d done the right thing by leaving.

  “Willow?” His gaze cut to the duffle bag over her shoulder, and he growled a nasty curse before grabbing her arm and pulling her inside. “Did he kick you out?” he demanded, slamming the door shut behind her.

  “Not exactly. He threatened to and I left.”

  Regan grumbled something that sounded like “Stubborn fucking bastard” as he dragged his hand through his hair and began to pace. He was clearly suffering from a moment of shock and hadn’t expected her to show up on his doorstep, homeless. “Shit. Well, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be all right, Willow.”

  She wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince, her or himself—maybe both.

  “You can stay here. I know it’s a lot smaller than what you’re used to, but, fuck . . . of course you’re welcome here.”

  He was so sweet. Tears refilled her eyes again, and this time she didn’t even try to hold them back. She’d done a lot of thinking on her way here and had anticipated this offer would come. Regan would feel responsible for this, for her now, and that was the last thing she wanted. This wasn’t how she wanted their next step to progress—him feeling responsible for her. She thought about what she’d say if he offered her his home, and not only what she wanted, but what she needed to do.

  “Thank you, but no, I can’t live here. And I love you for offering, but I can’t go from being under one wing to another. I need to get a place of my own, Regan. I need to prove to myself that I can get my own job, have my own apartment, and support myself, you know?”

  His brows drew tight. “Willow, you’re a full-time college student. You’re not supposed to have to support yourself. College is expensive.”

  “Finals are in three weeks, and then I’m out for the summer. That’ll give me plenty of time to get a new job and get settled in before classes start up again. I can do this, Regan. I need to do this on my own. My tuition is paid from the death benefits of my parents’ Social Security. I just need to get a job and work to support myself. Lots of people do it.”

  “Get a job? Willow, you have a job.”

  “A job Kyle got for me. He doesn’t want me there anymore—”

  “He told you that?” Regan’s scowl darkened. “He can be such a prick when he’s pissed.”

  “It’s all right, Regan. Honestly, I think I’m ready to move on. I’m thankful for everything Marcus has done for me, but with him opening that gym in Minnesota and as much as he’s gone, I won’t be getting promoted to his assistant, and honestly, it’s not the same there anymore. I’m going to get my own job, my own place.”

  Regan made a few more pacing passes back and forth, taking some time to digest everything she was telling him. This was one of the vast differences between Regan and Kyle. Regan was a processer, and Kyle was an exploder, two hugely different communication styles. She’d learned to work with both over the years; though she had to admit, there had been several times in the past she’d used Regan to run interference for her when she’d known Kyle was going to blow over something she’d done. Regan had always been there for her, and she knew in her heart that, even if something happened and it didn’t work out between them, he always would be.

  Regan took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I understand you feel like you’ve got to spread your wings and fly a bit. I think it’s healthy and we all need that experience. When you’re ready to take that next step, I’ll be here, waiting. No pressure. It’s whatever you need . . .” He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m always going to be your safety net, Willow.”

  Dammit, just when she’d thought the tears were done, she cried again.

  Chapter 31

  Regan sat at the breakfast bar, sipping a cup of coffee, listening to the shower hiss down the hall, and contemplated joining Willow. With nothing but time on his hands, he was crawling out of his skin. Just over three weeks into his suspension and he was sure he was going bat-shit crazy with all his spare time and nothing to do but think. Coach had flown back into town last night, and he had a meeting scheduled with him late this morning. He couldn’t exactly say he was looking forward to the ass-chewing he was in for.

  Willow was his saving grace, though. It was great having her here while she was getting on her feet, making love to her wherever and whenever he felt like it. Having her in his bed, wrapped safely in his arms at night, he’d never slept so well in all his life. Regan was quickly coming to crave the predictability of domestic life. It suited him better than he would have thought. Then again, maybe it wasn’t domesticity as much as it was Willow that suited him. Whether they spent the evening together staying in and watching a movie, or strolling through the park, or catching a show, it didn’t matter what they did; he just enjoyed spending time with her without having to hide their relationship. She was the one good thing in his life amid a world of shit, and he loved her so much sometimes it scared him.

  Regan hadn’t expected Kyle to try to contact him, but the stubborn ass hadn’t even tried to reach out to Willow since she’d left. It pissed him off more than it surprised him. He knew how Kyle could be, and although he’d hoped it would be different, he expected no less. He hated that he’d come between the two of them.

  It had to be bothering Willow, too, but she was a Scott, and she could be just as stubborn as her brother. Regan didn’t know exactly what had been said between them that night, but whatever it was, it must have cut deep enough that her anger was still on a slow boil. Between wrapping up school, preparing for finals, and job searching, she didn’t seem to be dwelling on things she couldn’t change—like her brother’s pigheaded attitude—which was for the best, because he dwelled on it enough for the both of them. It was easier to focus on Willow’s problems than think about his own; though he’d had plenty of time to do both.

  Learning the truth about his mother haunted him with guilt. The idea that she was out there somewhere—unclaimed—ate at him like a slow-growing cancer. It would be his father’s final blow. There was nothing else he could do to him now—nothing more he could say to hurt Regan any more than he already had—and there was a small measure of peace to be found in that knowledge.

  Campoli’s parole hearing was coming up fast, just a few days away now, and though Willow still refused to talk about it, he knew it was weighing heavily on her. He could see the lines of tension bracketing her mouth, or the worry wrinkling her brows when she didn’t realize he was watching her. He’d talked her into putting off apartment hunting, at least until after this thing with Campoli was resolved. Call him paranoid, but he liked the idea of keeping her close. He didn’t trust that bastard or his old man. But Regan’s desire to protect her warred with Willow’s need for independence.

  If he had his way, she wouldn’t be moving at all, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake Kyle did. Regan refused to stifle her, even if the idea of Willow leaving sent an uncomfortable pang cramping inside his chest and a knot of anxiety twisting in his gut.

  He totally understood her need to get out on her own and wouldn’t take it personally when she left, but that didn’t curb his desire to want to take things to a more permanent level with her. He feared if he told her how he felt, asked her to stay, she would, and the restlessness she was experiencing under Kyle’s roof would transfer to his, and eventually she would grow to resent him for it.

  Just because he was ready to take the next step didn’t mean she was. He’d been on his own for a long time now, and he couldn’t expect her to be where he was at this point in her life. Optimally, he’d like to have Kyle’s blessing before he asked Willow to marry him. It would go a long way toward making amends between them. But by the looks of things, that blessing was going to be a long time coming, if ever.

  The sharp clip of Willow’s heels echoed down the hall, and his gaze cut to wh
ere she’d be coming out any moment. His breath caught in his lungs at the sight of her, the quickening of his pulse sending a rush of blood heading south. Gorgeous didn’t begin to describe this woman. Pale-blonde hair spilling down her shoulders, those vibrant blue eyes set off by a glimmer of natural shadow, dark lashes, and full, shell-pink lips, all complimented her delicate features and porcelain perfect skin. She wore a classy black dress with a silver statement necklace; though none of the statements running through his mind right now were fit for repeating. Her shoes were what put him over the edge though—black spike heels with silver jewels sparkling over the toes.

  “You know I’m going to fuck you in those shoes tonight, right?” he asked over the cup of coffee he had half-raised to his mouth.

  Willow laughed. The light cadence was music to his ears. With everything going on in their lives right now, it was a sound he hadn’t heard nearly enough. “Stop it,” she teased. Those sexy heels clicked over to him, and she grabbed a fistful of his hair, tipping his head back so she could bend down and plant a kiss on his mouth. “You know I’m nervous about my interview. I really want this job.”

  “I know you do.” Was it horrible of him to hope she didn’t get it because that would just bring her one step closer to moving into her own apartment?

  When she let go of his hair and tried to step back, his arm shot out and he grabbed her waist, dragging her onto his lap. “Come here,” he growled. Hooking his finger beneath her chin, he tipped her head up to meet his eyes. “You’re going to do great,” he told her, kissing her forehead—because she would. “They’d be lucky to have you.” He kissed the tip of her pixie nose—because they would. “Just remember that when you walk in there, everything will be fine.” Because it would. He kissed her lips, resisting the urge to dip his tongue into her mouth for a taste.

  “Thanks,” she said, giving him a grateful smile. “I’ve never had an actual job interview before. Marcus just hired me. Gosh, I just hope I don’t walk in there this afternoon smelling like Bartholomew. ‘Please, sir, hire me to be the hostess at your fancy restaurant. What’s that? You don’t like my perfume? I smell like a dead cat, you say?’”

  Regan laughed and pulled her in for a quick hug before hoisting her back up and rising to his feet. “Get to class, ace those finals you’ve been cramming for, go to your interview, and when you get back, I’ll take you out to supper. Then we’ll come home and celebrate by getting naked—except for the shoes. Those stay.” He let her go with a playful swat on her ass.

  Willow let out a surprised yelp, and she shot him a you’re going to pay for that grin as she headed toward the door.

  He tipped his head to the side, watching her sashay across the dining room, admiring the sexy sway of her hips. His cock ached with need at the memory of her small body beneath his not even two hours ago, and already he was hard and hungry for her again. “I hope you know you’re leaving me with a hard-on that would make the Eiffel Tower envious,” he complained, following her to the door, unable to resist stealing one more kiss before she slipped away.

  “Oh, poor baby,” she teased, turning to him with her bag of books slung over one shoulder and her purse over the other.

  She reached between his legs and grabbed his erection through his pants, squeezing hard enough to elicit a hiss of breath drawn in through clenched teeth. The jolt of pleasure shot down his shaft and into his balls. After all these months, she’d learned his body well, and she knew exactly how he liked to be handled. She’d grown bolder, more confident in her sexuality, and it’d come as a surprise to discover they both liked it a little on the rough side. His sweet, innocent Willow wasn’t so innocent anymore, and it filled him with a thrill of possessive male pride to know he was the only one in the world that knew this about her.

  “How will you ever make it through the day?” she teased, her tone deceptively sweet.

  Not very fucking easily, that’s how.

  She came closer so their lips were almost touching and whispered, “I want you to think of me today and imagine me in these shoes, on my knees, while your cock is in my . . . Oh jeez, would you look at the time?” With a sassy grin, she glanced toward the clock hanging on the living room wall. “I’ve gotta go.”

  In your what? His mind filled in all sorts of blanks there. She opened the door to slip out, but he caught her wrist before she could escape. “You little minx,” he growled. “Finish the sentence. Where do you want me?”

  Reaching up on her tiptoes, she nipped his bottom lip then licked away the sting. “Wherever you want to be. It’s your fantasy.” She pulled the door closed behind her, and a pained groan crawled up his throat.

  Damn her, it was going to be a long fucking day.

  Regan sat across from Coach in his office, trying not to shift in his seat like a kid in the principal’s office. He knew he’d let the guy down, and the truth was that bothered him almost as much as losing his friendship with Kyle. For so many of the fighters here, Coach had become like a father to them—they’d been an MMA family. Regan hated that he’d brought his dysfunction into the gym. That he’d let his personal life interfere with his professional one. But there wasn’t any way to draw that line as they were both so tightly interwoven.

  Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes, as the man sat there staring at him. To say he was angry was an understatement—livid was a more accurate adjective. “It took me three weeks to cool off enough to call you in for this meeting,” Coach told him, finally breaking the silence. It wasn’t a good sign. “You want to tell me what the fuck happened here when I was gone?”

  “Not really . . .” Regan cast his gaze to his hands folded tightly in his lap. He couldn’t take the expression of anger and disappointment in the man’s eyes anymore. He’d seen that look too many times over the years, was all too familiar with the thoughts that must be running through his head, thoughts his father hadn’t hesitated to put voice to.

  You’re a worthless piece of shit, Regan. You’re never going to amount to anything. I look at you and all I see is disappointment and failure.

  “Yeah, that’s the same thing Scott said,” Coach grumbled. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Regan’s eyes shot up to his. “Of course you do. I knew you didn’t want to fight him, but I never thought you two would ever do something as dishonorable as this. But your stunt backfired, didn’t it? Scott’s ACL is torn; he’s going to need surgery and at least nine months of rehab. It’ll be at least a year before he can step into that cage, and by then, your welterweight contract will have expired.”

  This was all news to Regan, and the blow hit him hard. Guilt and shame made him drop his face into his hands as he tried to process what the guy was telling him. He hadn’t known Kyle had been injured that badly. No wonder Coach was furious. Fuck . . .

  “So, I’m going to ask you again, what in the hell happened between you two?”

  Regan wasn’t sure answering him at this point was going to do any good, other than perhaps honesty might move them a step closer toward gaining Coach’s forgiveness. He couldn’t let Kyle go down for this. It had been Regan’s fault—going behind his friend’s back, lying to him. There was no reason for them both to be on Coach’s shit list. He’d fucked up a lot of things, but this he could make sure he got right.

  “I’ve been seeing Willow behind Kyle’s back, and he found out about it.”

  The pop of Coach’s brows told Regan this was news to him. So, Kyle hadn’t tossed Regan under the bus when he’d had the chance. Funny, he thought Scott would have been driving the damn thing, pedal to the metal.

  “So, this fight between you two wasn’t rigged to avoid the octagon?”

  Regan shook his head.

  “Is that why Willow quit?”

  He nodded. Coach exhaled a muttered curse that sounded like “fuck me,” which pretty much summed it up. “As long as I’ve known you, you boys have been tight as brothers.”

  Yeah, that reminder wasn’t doing much more than grinding s
alt in an open wound right now.

  “I don’t think you two have any idea what you’ve done. Dean is ready to cancel both your contracts. And coming off the heels of Del Toro’s blow-up, people are saying I can’t handle my fighters. Son, you’ve backed me into a tight corner here.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t think you do. Someone is going down for this.”

  Regan had known coming into this meeting that it was going to be bad. What he hadn’t realized was that it was going to be this bad. He didn’t blame Coach. In fact, if he had to guess, Dean was spearheading this witch hunt. But ultimately, did it matter who was behind it? He’d fucked up. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t betrayed Kyle. There was no way in hell he was letting Willow’s brother take the fall for this. “If you’re going to fire someone, then fire me.”

  Coach stared him down, his bushy gray brow arched in surprise. “Why should I let you go over Scott?”

  Regan had to give him a reason that would be undisputable. There were a lot of things he could live with, but ending his friend’s career was not one of them. “Because I threw the first punch.”

  He could tell by the expression on Coach’s face that he didn’t believe him. A rarely seen glimpse of emotion flickered across his face that seemed to well in the old man’s eyes. It was unexpected, and it nailed Regan in the gut. They both sat there a moment, seeming to grapple with what he had to do. Regan’s chest burned with pressure, the lump swelling in his throat making it hard to swallow. But he refused to look away, meeting his coach—his mentor—eye to eye as he waited to hear those inevitable words . . .