Pas de Deux: Part Two (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 2) (28 page)

Melody had taken the kids to Murphy's and Esther's house for the evening, and Cillian had invited her over to share his good news. There was a large pepperoni pizza between them.

“So's yours. Here.”

Cillian rifled through his documents and passed her a check; it wouldn't make her rich, but as long as she was responsible, she and the kids would be set. He'd given her enough to pay for two undergraduate college educations and a modest house.

“What the hell is this?”

“It's for you and the kids.”

She stared at it, her mouth open. “Cillian...”

“College trust funds for the kids, and the rest can be used to get a real house with some decent furniture. Don't argue with me, Mel.”

Melody held the check in both hands, between her index fingers and thumb like it would disintegrate. Her eyes glossed over. “Cillian...this is way too much.
You
earned that money, not me.”

Cillian got up from his seat and pecked her forehead. “You're my baby sister. I'm always gonna take care of you, until you get yourself a dude that's actually worthy of you.” He got up to grab a couple of beers from the fridge and brought them back, handing her one.

“So,” Melody said, brushing tears off her cheeks. Cillian smirked; Melody hated getting emotional, and notoriously changed the subject any time she got uncomfortable. “No luck on talking to Sammi?”

Cillian sighed, popping off the cap and taking a long swig of his brew. “No. She lost her phone in Albany, and I don't know if she got a new one. She wouldn't give the number out now, anyway.”

“But you said she came looking for you at the gym.”

Cillian shrugged. “Only 'cause she was freaked out.”

“I don't know about that.” Melody shook her head. “She wanted comfort, Killy...your comfort.”

Cillian shrugged, desperate to end the conversation. “I won't hurt her again—that's the comfort I can give. And the only way I can make sure of that is to keep my fuckin' distance.”

“You love her too much to do that.”

Cillian frowned. “I...we never talked about love. But if I really love her, then I have to be unselfish and think about what's best...for her.”

They hadn't discussed love, but he thought of the desperate message he'd sent to her in Albany, before he'd gone to sleep that first miserable night without her. The last three words of that message blared like a neon sign in his head. She'd lost her phone by the time he'd sent that message, and he didn't know whether to be disappointed or a relieved that she hadn't seen that declaration.

He'd never said that to a woman before.

“Maybe you didn't have a chance to say it, but that doesn't mean it wasn't there. And it just doesn't go away.” She cleared her throat and looked away. “For instance. I still love Christopher's father.”

Cillian cut his eyes at her. “Mel.”

She shrugged defensively. “I do. I know he's a fucking asshole, and I know you hate him, and I hate what he did—I hate that he cheated on me and denied Chris. But...I can't help it. I still love him.”

“You deserve better.”

Melody shrugged. “Doesn't change anything.” She waved a hand, her eyes glistening again. “My point is, she might be angry with you, she might even believe you did all that shit, God forbid. But I really believe she's scared, Cillian.”

“Shit, I am too.” He shook his head. “To know that I could hurt someone that bad—and I never even did what she thinks I did.” He pushed his beer bottle aside and folded his arms, leaning on the table. “
I'm
hurt, Mel. She's not with me, and it fucking
hurts
.”

“Killy.” Melody got up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I'm sorry.” She tapped the stack of paperwork he'd signed after he'd taken over the studio. “But this—this is a good start.”

“She's not the kind of girl that can be bought, Mel. I wouldn't want to do that anyway. I don't want her to know it's me.”

“I'm not saying she can be bought. I think she's the kind of girl who's receptive to important, heartfelt gestures. And that's what this is.”

Cillian stared at the papers. “I'm gonna have to get used to being without her. But if she can have her dream and be happy—that would make it easier.”

Melody sat back down, her hazel eyes fierce. “I can't even believe this is my brother speaking. The Killy I grew up with, looked up to, would never just give up on something he wanted.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That's not what I'm doing. I told you, I'm being unselfish. I caused a shit-storm by bringing her to that fight, exposing her to the wrong people.”

“Look, I'm not arguing that that it turned out to be a bad idea, but you had no control over what Carl was gonna do. It was a shit weekend for all of us. But I
won't
sit here and let you vilify yourself. You are good enough for her, Cillian, and when the time is right, you two will figure it out.”

Cillian met her gaze, shrugging a shoulder. “Maybe you're right.”

But he only said it to end the conversation.
She doesn't get it.

There was more that Melody didn't know—she hadn't seen the cuts on Sammi. Mel didn't know how deep the anxiety ran, or how badly that exercise in public humiliation had hurt Sammi.

He knew, and he'd put her in the center of it anyway, and now—they were both paying the price.

At a quarter to noon on Monday, during his lunch break on his first day of orders, Cillian pulled up in front of Ronan's Gym for his meeting with Carl. It was the first time he'd been back since before the tournament. For a moment, his heart twisted; he'd grown up here, and other than being on deployments, there hadn't been more than a couple days that he hadn't been here. It was a part of him.

He stared up at the sign, a fierce heat flushing his skin.
It's
always
gonna say Ronan's.

Cillian pulled off his patrol cap as he walked through the door. Already, his body tensed, as if it was preparing for a fight; his muscles swelled beneath his skin, his heart thumped hard, and his breathing increased slightly. He'd felt the same way during gun battles at war. He'd felt the same way at the tournament.

The paperwork and the check for Carl were in a manila envelope tucked under his arm. Among legal letters stating that Cillian would now be the rightful owner was a lawsuit for punitive damages for his role in throwing the fight, as well as written and notarized statements from the judges that Carl had paid them off. Those statements included emails between Carl and the judges, bank deposit screenshots, and text messages were available upon request. Finally, there was a cease-and-desist order for any contracted work Carl had ordered for the gym renovations to turn it into a night-club.

There was no getting out of it, and Cillian almost wished Carl would try to fight him on it, so he could embarrass the man in court.

Additionally, he'd called Baz over the weekend to explain his incredible turn of luck, and asked him to be on standby on Monday.

“Not only do you have a job again,” Cillian had told him, “but you've got a raise coming, too.”

Cillian's desert boots thumped on the concrete floor as he walked toward Carl standing near the ring talking to a man in a suit who Cillian presumed to be his lawyer. As he approached, Carl glanced up.

“Cillian,” he said with the serpentine smile Cillian despised. “Look at you. Playin' soldier-boy today?”

“Some of us are men enough to do that.” Cillian folded his arms. “Let's do this. I got shit to do today.”

Carl smirked. “Sure, Killy. David?”

The suited man spoke up. “Mr. Ronan, I'm Mr. Wilhelm's attorney, David Berg. I understand you'll be selling your share of the property. I've got some paperwork for you to sign, as well as a check for you, buying you out of your rights to the gym.” He handed Cillian his own manila envelope.

Cillian opened it and rifled through the paperwork. There was a packet of legaleze and also a check, made out to him for fifteen thousand dollars.

“Would you like a pen?” David asked.

Cillian tucked the paperwork back inside. “No, actually, I wouldn't. Unless you'd like to lend it to Carl.” He handed the envelope back.

“Mr. Ronan?” David's brow furrowed in confused. “I don't understand...”

“I don't fuckin' understand, either,” Carl interjected, glaring at Cillian. “What the hell are you doin'?”

“I'm not signing your paperwork. You can take that check and shove it up your ass, Carl. I'm not selling this place.”

Carl smirked. “That's adorable, Soldier Boy. Apparently you forgot you don't have a choice in the matter. This is
my
place.”

“Not anymore.” Cillian handed David his envelope, and the attorney opened it, pulling out the sheaf of documents. His expression went from confused to surprised.

“What the fuck are you trying to pull, Cillian?” Carl demanded.

Cillian flicked his head at the attorney. “Let him tell you.”

“Carl...” David shook his head. “This is a problem.”

Carl's eyes narrowed to slits. “I don't pay you to have problems. I pay you to solve them.”

“This time, I don't think I can. Not only is this a notice of Mr. Ronan's ownership of this place, but—you're being sued.”

“For
what
? What is this?” Carl snatched the documents from David, his face turning dark red.

“Wilcox found out you paid off the judges,” Cillian informed him, biting off his words. His blood sang with sweet vindication in his veins. “You'd be surprised how much loyalty you
didn't
buy. All of them sang to stay on his payroll, all of them gave notarized statements, all of them will be testifying in court against you if you fight this. Oh, by the way, Wilcox overturned the ruling in my favor. Nice try, though.”

Carl hurled the documents in Cillian's face. “Bull. Shit!”

Cillian's heart pumped harder, and his body begged his mind for permission to jump on the man.
Relax. Ribs. Stay calm.

“You can throw those around as much as you want, Carl, but that doesn't change the fact that it is what it is. You're
done.
In this gym, in management, in MMA. Hell, in Boston.”

“I'm afraid,” David said quietly, “that he has a point. There's not much I can do for you, Carl.”

“You're my fuckin'
lawyer
,” Carl hissed. “You
better
figure something out.”

“I said, you're done, Carl,” Cillian said coldly. “For good.”

Carl stared at him for a long time in silence before his lips peeled back over his teeth. “I knew I shoulda taken Sammi home with me when I had the chance.”

Cillian's body tensed so hard at the words, a sharp bolt of pain shot through his side.
Stay calm.
“You never had that chance.”

“Oh, yeah? I was there at the trial, to be the shoulder she needed. You were nowhere to be found.”

Cold fury froze his veins. “Bullshit.”

“It was perfect. I took her phone in Albany, got all her personal info, then broke it. I brought it back to her all the way to NYC, just to see her.”

Cillian clenched his jaw. “I know you tried to fuck with her the other night. Stay away from her.”

Carl smirked. “Now, where's the fun in that? I got plans for her. Gonna make her
my
bitch—all night long.”

Cillian took a brief moment to apologize to himself for the physical agony he was about to be in, and to the universe for behaving in a manner unbecoming of a United States Army soldier.

Then, he launched himself at Carl, too quickly for the man to react, and connected a hard punch to his jaw.

The urge had gone unsatisfied for too long, and Cillian would never regret this moment or how it felt—like winning a huge victory, all over again.

A rush of hot satisfaction warmed Cillian's chest as he watched Carl's eyes go wide, his head snapping to the side as he stumbled back. But, a former fighter himself, his reflexes were still quick, and instead of falling over, he caught his feet and charged Cillian.

Cillian ignored the screaming blaze of pain in his side, barely feeling Carl's fist connect with his eye socket. He lowered his head as he lunged at him, catching Carl around the waist in a bear hug, driving him back to crash into a ring post. They sprawled on the floor, and for a moment it was nothing but hands tearing at the other, grunts of rage and violence, and the cold concrete of the floor against them. Carl's hands closed tight around Cillian's throat as he pinned him to the ground, sneering down into Cillian's face.