16. Adeline
Adeline
People rail against women dressing up to go to the gym, but tonight I’ve been strictly instructed to do so. But only because Leon’s Gym has been transformed for a special event.
I’ve heard of Leon’s before. Kids at high school treated it like the closest thing to Vegas. Underground fights happening in the middle of New York City. Drinking, betting, and women in tight, skimpy clothes were enough to attract rich schoolboys.
I’d tried to go once, but the weekend before I’d gotten into a massive fight with my mom when I crossed state lines to go to a concert. Marco, of course, ratted me out. I’ve learned since then there are worse things than when your bodyguard is a tattletale.
Ciaran sounded giddy when he asked me to add it to my calendar.
“You’re going to fight?” I asked, skeptical.
“Why are you looking at me like you think I’ll lose?” he frowned, but his warm brown eyes crinkled in amusement.
I spent all morning at the library, and then a stupid amount of time back at Ciaran’s getting ready. We’d missed each other because he’d been with his uncle before heading straight to Leon’s.
I smooth the fabric of my black, snakeskin leather dress. I never totter in heels, but I’m not normally nervous when I walk around in six-inch stilettos.
Tonight, I’m slipping into Ciaran’s corner of the world. Our arrangement has always been the other way, hinging on Ciaran stepping into my sphere of influence. I might be aware of Leon's, but it’s not my haunt, and I don’t truly know anyone who hangs out there.
Plus I’ll be meeting Ciaran’s family for the first time ever.
It started with a knock on Ciaran’s door. He’d told me his cousin would escort me to Leon’s.
“You think I can’t follow GPS?” Did he forget I have an armed guard that could help me if I get lost.
A dramatic long-suffering sigh slipped from Ciaran. “The place will be crowded, and there will be a lot of people who. . .”
“Are you worried about me or afraid I might be persuaded to cheer for someone else?” I teased.
“Seamus will pick you up,” he’d replied, his voice slipping into that rock hewn tone that made my toes curl.
Seamus is tall and skinny and has a constant smile on his face. He’s also a total flirt.
“You ready?” he asks as we get closer.
The street is eerily empty, a row of warehouses dark in the night. The moment the door opens, lights and noise nearly knock me over. No wonder this place is always compared to Vegas.
From what I understand, Leon’s Gym is a legitimate sports club. A place people can work out. It’s been transformed for tonight, the warehouse cleared of all equipment except for an octagon.
Men yell at the fight currently happening. I’m dressed appropriately, matching all the other women dressed in the tiniest clothes available to them. My eyeliner is flicked out, and my favorite wine stained color lipstick completes the look.
Seamus grabs my hand, ensuring we don’t get lost in the crowd. He respectfully drops it the moment we come to a table. There are a few set up, all filled by men in Italian suits and drinking top shelf.
“This is our uncle,” Seamus introduces, speaking in my ear so I can hear him over the crowd.
His uncle appears younger than I expected. His suit is blue, and he’s well groomed. But there’s an air of. . . I know I’m attractive.
He doesn’t stand as his eyes sweep over me. I’m jostled, and Seamus quickly prods me forward while yelling over his shoulder at whoever is behind us.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say.
Cormac nods, a smile slithering onto his face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Adeline. Ciaran will be thankful to have his lucky charm by his side.”
His words bring home the fact that Ciaran is about to actually fight in a boxing ring. It’d just been an idea, a fact, something that would occur, but I’d admittedly been too busy worrying about everything else.
A woozy feeling tilts my world. Why is everyone so happy to be shouting at people wailing on one another?
“Take a seat,” Seamus offers, pulling out a chair. “This is Dermot, Byron. . .”
I’m inundated with O'Connells. Several merely nod before disappearing into the crowd as if they’d only wanted to confirm I’d come.
“Anything to drink?” Seamus asks.
Cormac flags down a server, ordering another bottle of whiskey for the table. When it comes he pours a glass out for me, his pale blue eyes darker thanks to the dim lighting. They hold steady as he passes the drink over to me.
Ciaran is intense, so I’m not sure what I was expecting, but at least my boyfriend’s eyes hold an expression other than unblinking blankness.
“Thanks.” I take a sip, welcoming the burn down my throat. Probably not the grounding technique most therapists prefer, but here goes nothing.
The chair next to me is pulled out, the table rocking when someone plops into the seat.
“Hello, hello!” a vaguely familiar man says. Cain Murray. “Ready to support our boy?”
Cormac faces the ring, not hiding his sigh very well.
“You are as beautiful as your mam,” Ciaran’s dad says.
A blonde bombshell leans around him and agrees. “Stunning. And that dress. Those boobs.”
Thank God the red strobe lights hide my cheeks.
“This is my girl,” Cain introduces us. I offer her a smile. He sits up in his chair, his gaze sweeping the warehouse. “It’s good of you to come. Your guards must be loving this, huh? A little show. Who says being a bodyguard is boring?”
I take another sip of whiskey, not sure how to react to his passive aggressive comment. Cormac’s chair is positioned across the table, slightly in front of mine, so when he faces the ring, I get nothing but the back of his head. He cocks his head to the side, not quite able to ignore Cain, though.
Ciaran’s dad throws a hand up in the air, flagging down a server. The loud noise means we aren’t pressed to speak. There’s a shuffle at one point, and I find the blonde bombshell next to me.
“This is exciting, isn’t it?” There’s a slight twang to her voice, like she might be from the American South. “Cain is so proud of his boy. You two been dating long?”
“It’s new,” I admit. “But I really like him.”
Her smile is megawatt. The more I stare at her, the more I’m convinced she’s painted a mask over her face with the amount of makeup she’s got on.
“He’s really handsome like his dad,” she says. “You two make a lovely couple.”
“Thank you.” There’s a glow in my chest when I realize she’s the first person to actually compliment us as a pairing. “How long have you and Cain been dating?”
“Oh, it’s new too.” She giggles.
I hesitate, my lips parting before I’m able to ask, “H-how old are you?”
The girl isn’t offended. She offers me another toothy smile, her head tilting to the side in a doe-eyed manner. “I turned eighteen last month.”
Whack me over the head with a brick, I’d be less stunned. Cain’s girlfriend is younger than I am.
“Happy belated birthday. . .” I lift my whiskey to my lips, accidentally catching Seamus’s eye. He smirks in understanding.
“Here we go!” Cain pumps his fist. The crowd swells, the music and lights all giving away that something important is happening.
“Oh, yeah, he is handsome,” the blonde bombshell sighs when Ciaran walks out.
The crowd loves him, not that he notices. I know that look on his face. When he hones in on the object of his desire. Which in this case means beating the shit out of his opponent.
The first time I see Cain and Cormac share any similarities is when they jump up to their feet, yelling. Me, on the other hand?
I’m rooted to my seat, my spine ramrod. My skin pebbles, cold despite the hot blooded crowd.
Even the blonde bombshell is yelling, sometimes to cuss out Ciaran’s opponent, other times to cheer him on.
“Come on, son!” Cormac shouts, clapping.
Cain glances at him and then at me. For a beat we hold each other’s eyes. I should clap. Smile. Do something to show that I do—I am—supporting my boyfriend.
“Come on!” Cain bares his teeth, waving his fist in the air when a new round begins.
A fist nearly knocks Ciaran’s head off. My hands squeeze together, my knees together, and my posture straight. Ciaran knows what he’s doing, and a second later I breathe when he slams both fists into his opponent.
An eruption nearly blows the roof off. The referee lifts Ciaran’s hand in the air, and I’m not sure who looks happier—his dad or uncle.
The blonde bombshell touches my shoulder. “Oh, girl.” A devilish smile takes over her face. I’m not sure what exactly she’s congratulating me for. On Ciaran’s win or the fact that I get to go home with him. Probably both.
Men congratulate Cormac, who buttons his jacket and smooths his blond hair back, recollecting himself. Cain, meanwhile, is ordering another round for him and his teenage girlfriend.
He lands back into his chair with a thud, his body relaxing. “He’s a good man, Ciaran.”
There’s a lightness to the words. A glimmer of pride peeking through the messy facade that is the Irishman.
“He is,” I agree.
Cain’s hazel eyes remain on mine for a beat and then another. His mouth opens like he wants to say something when I feel a presence at my shoulder.
“Come and see him,” Cormac says. Seamus nods too, treating me like one of the group.
“You want to go?” Blonde Bombshell asks Cain, getting up to follow.
Cain places a hand on her knee, smiling softly. “I’ll speak to him later.”
As I trail after Cormac, I wonder when later might be.
Not many people like Cain Murray. Even before I started looking into my father’s associates, I could tell by the way Yelena said his name. Not that it takes much for her to act cold toward a person.
But Ciaran never talks about his dad. Since he explained some of his family dynamics, he’s mentioned Nora more times than his own father.
Cain might be a proud father, but he can’t claim to have helped his son in any way. Not when he let Nora and Cormac raise Ciaran in Dublin while living in America.