9. Killian
KILLIAN
“ K iller—” Dad’s voice carries as I walk by his office at the end of the day.
Shit. So much for making my escape.
That’s about right. It’s not like he didn’t ride my ass after Lilah left, like I was a rookie who needed to be put through my paces.
I shoulder my gym bag, lean against his doorframe, and wait. It’s coming.
Dad rests his elbows on his desk and runs his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, much the same way I do. Guess I get it from him. Mom would say he needs a haircut, and she’d be right. She’s always on the two of us about that shit. Never my sisters. She’s on them for a whole mess of other stuff though, so I’ll take the ribbing about my hair.
Worry lines his face, so I know I’m in for it before he opens his mouth. “We’re nine weeks out from your fight, and I don’t know where your head’s at, kid.”
I want to tell him that makes two of us, but I don’t feel like dealing with the fallout from that kind of war cry, and that’s exactly what it would be. One of the things that makes Cade St. James the greatest coach the league has ever seen is his ability to cut through the shit and keep his fighters focused on the only thing that matters in this sport. Winning.
“It was one day, Dad. One conversation. One fifteen-minute break,” I argue, trying to set his mind at ease, even though I’m full of shit. Problem is, he knows it.
“Don’t do this, Killer. Don’t fucking rebel now. You know what you need to do. Don’t make me say it.”
No distractions. That’s what he’d say, and Lilah strutting her way back into town is the biggest possible distraction imaginable. Even more than he knows.
“Not rebelling, old man.” I push off the door and shift my bag. “It’s good. We’re good. My head’s in this thing. My heart’s in it too. I’m going to wipe the mat with him. That belt is going to stay mine. And you have my permission to kick my ass if I slack off at all. Sound good?”
You’ve got to be a cocky bastard to do what I do for a living.
Confidence is 50 percent of the battle, and I’ve got it in spades.
I got my first judo gi at two years old.
Fought in my first tournament at five.
Won my first state wrestling championship at eight.
I could have gone to the University of Iowa to wrestle in college if I wanted to, but I didn’t. I wanted to be here in Kroydon Hills. I wanted Dad and Hudson to train me. I wanted to spar with my cousins. I wanted to be part of the next generation of fighters representing Crucible. I’ve got no fucking clue what’s going to happen in a few years when I stop competing, but I’ll figure it out when I have to. For now, this is what I want.
Dad stands and moves around his desk. He knocks his fist gently against my heart. “Make sure your heart stays in it, kid. Because you can’t afford to lose it to something else for nine more weeks. Distractions are weaknesses, Killer. You know that. This fight is a year in the making. Don’t lose it before you step foot in the cage.”
“Locked-in. I got this.” I step away, knowing I’m going to be walking a tightrope for a few weeks, but Lilah’s safety is worth the walk.
Besides, I’ve got fucking awesome balance.
A n hour later, I’m showered, packed, and standing in front of Lilah’s front door with my fist raised to knock when I come face-to-face with a giggling Dillan. “Fighter boy.” She points her finger at my chest, then leans in and taps me. “You came. Good boy.” Another tap. “Don’t let anything happen to my sister, and maybe try protecting your pretty face while you’re at it. You’re fun to look at, but that bruise...” Her finger moves up to my jaw, and she presses the bruise where Rome got me with his knee.
“Dillan—stop molesting Killian.” Nattie Ryan walks outside, her keys in her hand as she remotely starts her car, shaking her head. “God grant me the patience to deal with my headstrong daughters.” She pulls Dillan’s hand away from me and pats her like she’s a little kid. “Go wait for me in the car, sweets.”
“But—” The argument dies on the younger Ryan’s lips with one look at her mother. “Fine.”
“Sorry about Dillan. I may have filled her wine glass a few too many times.” Nattie Ryan is a gorgeous woman and looks more like she could be Lilah’s older sister than her mother. Her long golden hair and tiny frame remind me so much of her daughter, but the look in her eyes tells me she’s about to call me out on something. It’s the same look Lilah gets, only her daughter hasn’t given a shit what I’ve done for a decade. “What are you doing here, Killian? Don’t think I don’t know you and Lilah haven’t been friends for a long time.”
Christ. How many people are going to call me out tonight?
My dad, Dillan, and now Nattie Ryan.
Is my mom going to show up next?
“I’m here to help an old friend out. That’s it,” I try to rationalize, but even to me, it sounds like bullshit.
“Uh-huh. An old friend.” She looks at the bag in my hand. “You pack a bag to see all your old friends?”
I don’t bother answering. She already knows the answer.
“Yeah... didn’t think so. Listen, Killian. You’re a good kid?—”
Jesus. How many fucking people are going to call me a kid tonight?
“You always were. Brady and I knew the way Jamie, Maverick, and you watched out for Lilah in high school. You boys were so sweet. But you’re not in high school. Actions have consequences...” She takes a beat, straightens her back, and rests her hand on my shoulder. “Just tread lightly, okay? My girl is going through hell right now.”
The tiny woman looks heartbroken at the thought of Lilah hurting, but she shakes it away. Lilah Ryan would kick her mother’s ass from here to Philadelphia if she knew she was saying any of this to me, and Nattie knows it. “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon. Hopefully, before the twins’ birthday.” She squeezes my shoulder and drops her hand. “’Night.”
“’Night, Mrs. Ryan,” I murmur, stuck in the past, remembering the way Lilah used to love Noah’s and her birthday. Of course, the girl who used to love love and hearts and flowers and romance would be born on Valentine’s Day. The five of us always used to do something special and usually stupid, like sneaking out after curfew and getting up to something we shouldn’t have been doing. But Lilah’s hand was always in mine when we did whatever the hell we thought was cool that year.
The year she left for her first tour, her birthday was one of the last fun days we had.
Fuck .
I hadn’t thought about that in so damn long.
“Killian...” Her voice shakes me from the memory. The good and the bad parts of it. “I didn’t know you were here.”
I watch her Mom pull out of Lilah’s driveway and shrug. “Sorry. I was talking to your mom and sister. Did you know your gate was open?”
She looks at the black, wrought-iron gate in the far distance at the end of her driveway and shakes her head. “No. I didn’t. Mom must have left it open when she came in.”
“How many people have access to get in?” I push as she guides me inside and purses her lips.
“Just my immediate family. They’re the only ones with the code. Them and my security team... well, and I guess now you. You’ll need it.” Her bright blue eyes rake over my bag. “I know we talked about you spending the night, but you don’t have to. I mean—ugh. This is so frustrating. It’s just, I mean... Well, you don’t have to sleep here. You can go home. We could work something else out.”
Her creamy skin heats and pinks as she grows more and more flustered.
“Sorry, princess, but when I agreed to this, I told you I’m all-in. Where you go, I go. Where you sleep?—”
“Down the hall,” she cuts me off. “You are not sleeping in my room.”
“I don’t have to sleep in your room, Lilah. But I’m sleeping in your house...” I trail off, not wanting to piss her off on my first night here. I’ve had a lot of time to think about us and our fucked up relationship while I sat in the steam room today, and I decided something. This is my opportunity to fix our shitty past. If she’s going to be stuck with me, she’s going to have to listen, eventually .
“ Killian ...” she pouts, like we’re still sixteen, and that pout will get her whatever she wants.
“Not a chance, Lilah.” I drop my bag on the floor and stuff my hands in the front pocket of my Crucible hoodie. “I think it’s time we establish some ground rules.”
Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like that beta fish I won her at the carnival when we were thirteen. “Ground rules?”
“Yup.” I pull out one of her island stools and leave my hand on the back. “Sit.”
“I’m not a dog, St. James.” The venom is back, but I’ll take that over the woman who struggled to get her words out a minute ago. Lilah is cool, calm, and confident. She always has been, and it fucking hurts to see her anything less.
“Nope. More like stubborn like a damn mule, Ryan.” I screech the stool against the floor and push it behind her until she has no choice but to climb up and sit her fine ass down. “Now let’s hammer this out.”
“If I had a hammer, I’d hit you over the head with it,” she snaps back with a haughty tone in her voice that shouldn’t be hot, but it is.
I move around the stool and rest my ass against the counter in front of her. “Where you go, I go, and I have to go to Crucible five days a week to train.”
“I train too, but I’m not staying there all day. Xander can bring me home when I’m done,” she argues.
“You gonna let him inside the house?” I question, not liking how dismissive she sounds about her safety.
“No. You are the only non-friend or family I’m letting into my home. Rule number one. You don’t bring anyone here.”
“I wouldn’t, and you know it.” I focus on the annoyance that she felt like she even had to say that shit instead of the fact that she doesn’t consider me a friend. I knew it, but it still sucks to hear it. Damn, this is gonna be harder than I thought. “If I’m not with you, you gotta let Lurch stick by your side if you’re outside the house. Don’t fuck with your safety, Lilah.”
“Don’t call him Lurch,” she groans. “I’m gonna kill Dillan.”
“For more reasons than that nickname,” I mumble. “And if we’re supposed to pull off the whole couple vibe, you’re going to have to act like you can stand me.”
“In public,” she grits through her teeth. “I’m a performer. I can manage. The question is can you? But then again, you’re the better liar of the two of us.”
“Fuck, Lilah. I’ll do this for you, but you’ve got to give it a break. We both fucked up back then. We were kids. We’re not the same people.” Any man who tries to say words can’t hurt never had Lilah Ryan tell him she hates him. It fucking sucks.
“Fine. We’ll probably need to make a few public appearances to really sell this.” She reaches up and twists her long blonde curls into a knot on top of her head, then slaps her hands down on her thighs, dragging my eyes down to the hot-pink leggings molded to her perfectly shaped thighs. Thighs that would looks so fucking good straddling my face.
And now I’m smiling, and if she knew why, she’d kick my ass. It would serve me right too.
“Do you want to go to the Superbowl this weekend? My family has a suite,” I offer, and this little brat rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, champ, so does mine. One of my uncles coaches the team, and the other plays for them, remember? I can go without you if I want to.” Her haughty voice comes right back into play, and my cock jerks in response. “But no, I don’t want to go. I’d rather not do anything quite that high-profile.”
This shit is going to be harder than I thought.
Pretty goddamn sure I’m going to be harder than I thought too. I see a lot of cold fucking showers in my future.
“No need to argue, princess. My family owns the team, and yours runs it. I get it. Okay, we’ll skip the game. I’ve got a Kingston charity event at the beginning of March. We can go to that.”
“Whatever. I’m sure someone will get a picture of us coming and going from Crucible. It’ll get out. Trust in the paparazzi. They always find a way. I’m surprised the Kroydon Kronicles hasn’t published anything about me at your gym. Looks like their bite has gotten less brutal.”
“Haven’t seen their post today, have you?” I hate that the color drains from her face. “Ignore it. Like you said, they were going to see us there together at some point. And if not, they’re going to see you at my fight.”
She runs her fingers around a red-braided bracelet tied around her wrist in a safety blanket kind of way. “You want me to come to your fight? It’s the championship fight, right?” she whispers, and something about her voice is like a punch to the jaw that nearly drops me. It’s the hesitance mixed with something else. Hope, maybe...?
I wrap my hand around her neck, feeling a little less like I’m risking life and limb this time, but she still bristles and tenses. “Yeah, princess. I’m defending my title.”
“I guess it’s the least I can do to repay the favor you’re doing for me. After all, I can cheer for the guy beating your ass.” She lifts a perfectly arched eyebrow, and her blue eyes sparkle.
“Brat,” I laugh. “I don’t get beat.”
“A girl can only hope,” she singsongs with a sly smile, until I squeeze just a touch against her neck, and the smile turns into something else. Something hotter. “Kidding... I was kidding. I may not like you very much, but I spent enough time watching you train that I want you to win, St. James. I may hope the guy gets in a good hit or two to knock your pretty face around a bit, but I want you to win.”
She hops down off the stool and away from my touch. “Terms accepted. Now I’m going to bed.” She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and stops in front of me. “Alone. You can have the room Noah slept in. It’s not like it’s the first time you had his sloppy seconds.”
Touché, princess . . . touché.
“I’ll set the alarm code and text that and the gate code to you. Your room is the third room on the right at the top of the stairs, and mine is the one next to it.”
“Sweet dreams, princess.”
“More like nightmares, champ. See you in the morning.”
I’m so stuck on that word—nightmares—that I almost miss the way her heart-shaped ass sways as she walks away. Almost. I might be a nice guy, but I’m only human, and Lilah Ryan is the perfect woman wrapped up in a tight, hot, little package. She’s gonna be the death of me. Let’s just hope not literally.