Pas de Deux: Part Two (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 2) (23 page)

Carl

“Fucking bastard.” Cillian's hand tightened around his phone, and he dropped it on the carpet before he cracked it again. He needed to get a new phone—but now he couldn't afford it.

Well, you'll be fifteen grand richer on Monday, won't you? He's right—he does own your ass.

His phone rang again, and with an angry growl, he grabbed it.
Don't they know I just want to be left the fuck alone?

“Yeah?” he practically snarled.

“Bro. I was gonna ask how you are, but...I guess I know.”

“Matty.” Cillian swiped a tired hand over his face. “I'm about as good as I can be. Fuckin' up at life, and in a shitload of pain.”

“How are the ribs?”

“Fucking hurt. What's up?”

“Just checkin' on you. I'm worried about you, Killy.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to offer a sarcastic reply, but he sighed. It was just Matthews. “Not doin' great, Matty.”

“You heard from her?”

“No.”

“Just—just try to give it some time, Killy. She's been through a lot.”

“I know.”

“What about work?”

“The lieutenant called. He's got some orders for me.”

“Awesome.”

“Carl emailed me too. He's gonna pay me fifteen grand for the gym.”

Matthews was silent for a long time. “That's highway robbery, Killy. He can't force you into this.”

“The hell he can't. He'll take me to court, and they'll rule in his favor. It'll just be an unnecessary pain in the ass. Besides, I don't have a leg to stand on. I barely have enough money to cover three months of rent on this place. I need that money.”

“Cillian, I would bet my entire life savings that he had something to do with you losing the fight.”

“I would too, but who the hell's gonna listen to me? Far as everyone cares—I lost. Period.”

“No. Listen, bro, I got some contacts still in the MMA world. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this.”

“Don't bother,” Cillian said tiredly. “You can't win 'em all.”

“No, you can't win 'em all. But you
can
win what's rightfully yours. I got some calls to make, Killy. You gonna be all right? You want some company? Done with training now—you can drink beer again. I'm sure I've got a six-pack around here with your name on it.”

“Nah, it's okay. Mel's bringing the kids over in a little bit with some food. She's been bugging the shit out of me since we got home.”

“Hey, you're her big brother. She's lookin' out for you. We all are. I got your back, man. All right? Stay strong.”

“Yeah.” Cillian stared at the ceiling. “Thanks, Matty.”

He hung up and tossed the phone down, praying no one else would call and check on him. He thought about Matthews' words, and for an instant, a tiny surge of hope glowed in his chest. Then he quashed it.

Don't kid yourself. It is what it is, and Carl's got you by the balls.

When he woke the next morning, after getting a scant hour of sleep spread across the entire night in ten-minute intervals, Cillian made a decision.

Sammi wouldn't answer his calls; so he would speak to her face to face. He had to see her, had to speak to her, had to know she was all right.

Had to tell her how sorry he was.

The café seemed like a logical place to start—it was a Thursday morning, and she should be there, if she was back from New York.

He took a shower and got dressed as carefully as possible, selecting a sergeant-style button down, nice jeans, clean shoes. He examined himself in the mirror; the heavy stubble on his face concealed the cut on his lip a little, but there was nothing to be done about the bruises on his cheek and forehead, as well as the cut over his eyebrow. In fact, it was deep enough that it had required stitches at the hospital and would leave a gnarly scar. The injuries plus the dark circles beneath his eyes and his pallid complexion made him look terrifying.

Cillian parked his truck outside Caffé Carnevale. It was just after the breakfast rush, and the place was mostly empty. He pushed through the front door; there was no one behind the barista counter. The little bell over the door jangled softly, and he stepped inside.

“Hello?”

Jazz poked her head around the corner, and her face immediately fell. She glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen, then stormed over to him.

“You've got some fucking nerve,” she hissed.

Cillian drew his head back. “What?”

“What you did. You're disgusting! Do you have any idea what she's going through?”

Cillian held up his hands. “Jazz, what's going on?”

“Don't play dumb with me.” She kept her voice barely above a whisper, but she shoved the flat of her hand against his chest. A corresponding lightning bolt of pain lanced through his side, but she ignored his wince. “We all know it was you. Do you know how much legal trouble you're going to be in if they can prove that?”

“Prove what?
What
was me?”

“We know you leaked the fucking story!” Jazz's dark brown eyes watered. “We know you were using her. We know you stood her up on Tuesday when she was counting on you. I actually thought you were a good person, Cillian Ronan. I wanted you to be together. I thought you were good enough for her. And you do
this
—”

“Whoa.” Cillian grabbed her shoulders, then quickly let her go at the look of rage in her eyes. “I don't know where you're gettin' your information, but you got it all wrong.
All
wrong. I didn't leak shit and I didn't stand her up. I would never hurt her. Ever.”

“Bullshit!”

“On my fucking life.” Cillian stared into her eyes. “I swear to God. Look, is she here? She's the one I need to be talkin' to. I have to see her. I can't let her think that—”

“She's not here,” Jazz interrupted. “But her parents are, and her dad has it out for you. You better take your ass on and leave before he—”

“What the
fuck
are you doing here?”

Cillian and Jazz both whirled around as Joe Carnevale stepped out from the kitchen. He'd always been an imposing man, but now, he radiated malevolence.

Ah, shit.

Cillian straightened. “Sir—I need to see Sammi.”

Joe slowly brought his hands together and cracked his knuckles, then flexed his fingers. “You ain't ever seein' her again. Now, leave my employee alone, and get the fuck outta my place before I call the cops—or worse.”

“Sir, all due respect, but you've got it all wrong.”

Joe stepped closer, quiet anger emanating from him like heat waves. “And which part do I got wrong? The part where you leaked my daughter's personal, private,
traumatic
business to the press for your own gain, the part where you were usin' her for fame and attention, or the part where you stood her up on Tuesday?”

“I know it all looks bad, sir, but that's not how it happened. If you would just—”

“I trusted you, Cillian. I trusted you to look out for my daughter. You told me she was safe with you. And she wasn't safe. That ain't a mistake I'll ever repeat again, so you better just save whatever bullshit you wanna say to me. You're done with Sammi.”

Cillian clenched his teeth so hard, for a moment he thought he cracked one. “Sir, I care about your daughter more than anything. I have to make things right. If I can just—”

“You don't care for her. A man who really cares about a woman would never put her in danger the way you did. He would never use her the way you have. Just forget about her, there's plenty of stupid girls in Boston who'd fall for your shit. Not my girl.”

“I don't know who leaked her story,” Cillian said, struggling to stay calm as a sick, desperate feeling took root in his gut. “I have a good idea of who was involved—I'm working on nailing it down. But it wasn't me. I would
never
do that to her. I wanted to be there Tuesday—someone told me she didn't want me there, so I was trying to respect her wishes. I haven't been able to get a hold of her—I have to talk to her.”

Joe took a deep breath. “Listen, son. Somebody comes to Sammi and tells her it was you who did all this shit. You come here and tell me it was somebody else. I don't know what to think. It don't even matter at this point—don't change the fact that it's out there. The world knows she was raped now, and she has to deal with that—you don't. What I care about now is keepin' her away from people who can hurt her. And that means you.”

“Again, no disrespect, sir—but that's up to Sammi.”

“She doesn't want to see you, Cillian.”

The words hit him like a baseball bat to the head. The ability for speech left him as he stared at Joe.

Joe's face softened a tiny bit. “Even if I did believe what you're sayin' to me,” he said, his voice quieter, “you got people around you that are malicious and evil. And if Sammi's around you, that means she's a target for that. I will protect my daughter at all costs, no matter how much she thinks she cares about you.”

Cillian took a deep breath, finding his voice, ignoring the pain. “I appreciate all of that, Mr. Carnevale, but what happened last weekend was as much a shock for me as it was for everyone else—for her. As hard as I tried, I couldn't control what people around me decided to do. But that doesn't make me the evil bastard you think I am.”

“That's not what she was told.”

Carl Fucking Wilhelm.
It had to be Carl; he'd been the one to relay the message to Cillian that Sammi didn't want him at the trial. For whatever reason, Carl had been the one to go to the hotel to see Sammi. He'd been the one to threaten Cillian. The entire situation had his disgusting stink all over it.

But how can I prove it?

Joe sighed. Some of his intense anger receded and he stepped closer. When he spoke, his tone lost its kitana-sharp edge, his shoulders slumping. Before, he'd looked like a bear of a man, ready to tear any threat to his cub limb from limb. Now, he only looked defeated, and in as much pain as Cillian was.

“I know you can't control anybody but yourself. But the risk is, shit like this happens. Look, Cillian. God help me, but I'm inclined to believe what you're tellin' me is the truth. To be honest, I never got a bad sense about you. I always thought you were a respectful, reliable young man. And maybe you are, and this is all just some bad fuckin' luck for you. Ain't many men willing to stand their ground in front of me if they're really in the wrong.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cillian said, his voice hoarse.
But...

“But like I said, you got too many bad elements around you. You should've known that place was toxic for her. You should've seen the signs.”

Should've seen the signs...

He stared at Joe, stricken.

“Maybe one day, things'll be different,” Joe went on. “But right now, Sammi's torn up. She's hurting, she's suffering. She's had a rough fuckin' week. The last thing she needs is more drama.”

“Sir—”

“Cillian, if you really care about my daughter like you say you do, you'll stop being selfish and leave her alone so she can finally heal.” Joe's face hardened. “She's been through enough.”

You should've seen the signs. You didn't see the signs with her. You didn't see the signs with Lee. And he's dead.

Cillian swallowed hard and clenched his jaw, looking Joe in the eye as he made his second decision for the day. For a second, he struggled to speak, unable to get air around the lemon-size lump of emotion in his throat.

“Yes, sir.”

Joe eyed him, nodding. “All right. Go on, now, son.”

Cillian turned stiffly on his heel with almost military precision. He glanced at Jazz, and saw that she was openly weeping.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice flat, emotionless. It didn't reflect the sudden blazing inferno of hell that wreaked utter chaos in his chest. But there was nothing to do but leave. He pushed open the door and stepped outside.

“Cillian.”

He turned around. Jazz was on his heels. “What?”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“What does it matter now?”

“It matters to me.” Jazz folded her arms and stepped closer. “Were you telling the truth?”

“Yes.” He finally looked her in the eye. “I didn't leak her story. And I didn't stand her up on Tuesday—not on purpose. I was still going to show up, until I realized respecting her wishes—what I thought were her wishes—was better.”

“She wanted you there. Even after the tournament...fuck-up.”

“She hasn't answered a single call, voicemail, or text that I've left her damn near nonstop since Saturday.”

“She lost her phone in Albany, right before she left. She hasn't gotten a new phone yet.”

Well, at least she wasn't purposely ignoring me.
He felt a little better knowing that. But...

You should've seen the signs.

“Joe was right,” Cillian said. “It doesn't matter that I didn't do the shit I'm accused of doing. I didn't take care of her like I should have. I didn't protect her like I should have. I should've known better. She's right to keep her distance.”

Jazz narrowed her eyes. “I know you don't believe that.”

Cillian shook his head in frustration. “Now I do. One of my best friends killed himself last year, because I didn't see the signs. I wasn't there for him—I didn't protect him. And I'll be damned if that happens again to someone else I love. She's better off without me. Nothing in my life is stable right now—I'm losing the gym, my father's business that he had for thirty years. I lost the tournament when I should've won. I don't have a pot to piss in—she deserves so much more than that.”