Game(32)

“Christ,” Cormac said with a slight roll of the r. “I’m sorry about that. Here’s what I can and will tell you, Shayna. He built this cabin for a woman. He had a straight life to live with that woman.”

“I already heard everything you said,” I said as I turned. “You two were close. You were fighters. You won everything. You were going to fight each other and be rich.”

“Aye. That’s right. We were going to have the entire thing build up for a year. We were going to train for our fight together.” The word together sounded like ‘togedder’… “But it all slipped away. It crashed so hard, so fast, I sometimes blame myself for not being the bigger fighter and the bigger man to carry Finn through the darkness.”

Cormac’s voice was almost poetic, sounding like ‘trew da’ dahkness’ when he spoke. He blinked fast and then cleared his throat.

Was he crying?

Then his eyes met mine. His blue eyes were glistening.

“All because of a woman?” I asked.

“You see, Shayna, not just any woman. It wasn’t what you think. Aye, both of us loved her with all our hearts. But for different reasons.”

“What does that mean?”

Cormac stepped toward me and put a hand to my shoulder. “She was my sister, Shayna. That’s why I loved her. And for Finn… he’s still not done grieving her death.”





23.


(Finn)



The punching bag was a gift from my trainer before he died. He insisted I take the old beat up thing and keep it forever. I was going to toss the damn thing, but then I got a call that he had cancer. He died before I could say goodbye, so now each time I punched the bag, I pictured him yelling at me. Telling me I was too weak. That my head was too cloudy. That my stance was all wrong.

He was a mean old man, but I loved him.

I swung my fists as hard as I could into the bag. It gave way with ease, clouds of dust still pouring from it. Shit, it had been at least a year since I hit the thing. I had hidden it in the cabin and while I never forgot about it I never had a use for it.

Until now.

I unleashed on the bag. The chains at the top rattled. My heart raced faster by the second. And a bottle of whiskey rested on a stool next to me. I didn’t have time for water. This wasn’t conditioning. I wasn’t f*cking training for anything. I was trying to numb the pain in my chest.

I knew both Cormac and Shayna were watching me and I didn’t give a damn. I stood there in jeans, shirtless, and beat the f*ck out of the heavy bag. They couldn’t understand what I felt inside. Worse yet, the second I looked into Shayna’s eyes, I knew she and Cormac had been talking.

Goddammit.

Part of me would have rather him f*ck her than talking about my life.

About Carrie.

I groaned and threw another fury of punches. Shit, if this had been an opponent he would have wished for death. There were no refs in my world. Nobody checking on fighters, making sure things were regulated. You f*cking fought. You f*cking fought until you were told to stop. Because if you didn’t you’d get killed.

I threw another killer right and the bag swung like a massive pendulum, begging for more.

I took a break and grabbed the whiskey. I threw a good drink back and slammed it down.

“Hey, brother,” Cormac said. “Take a second and talk to me.”

I spun around. My knuckles were swollen. I had red marks between my fingers from the capillaries exploding against the thrust of my punches.

“What did you f*cking tell her?” I asked.

“Nothing. I made it clear that it was your story to tell.”

I looked at Shayna. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“I don’t believe it,” I said.

“Fine then,” Cormac said. “What do you want me to say? I told her the truth about Carrie?”

“Don’t say that name,” I warned.

“Or that I f*cked her?” Cormac said. He went chest to chest with me. “Huh? Is that what you want? I f*cked Shayna while you were gone. Perfect tits, Finn…”

Tits.

Again with her tits.

I had felt them but never seen them.

Goddammit.

I pushed at Cormac.

“No!” Shayna yelled.

I threw a right and Cormac backed away. He guided my hand away and then slapped me in the face. I swung a left and he ducked. He nodded, smiled, the sick Irish bastard he was, always wanting to fight.

He swung a right hook and I read it from a mile away.

I blocked him. “Stop showing with your shoulders,” I said.

Cormac threw a jab. I got away just in time.

I swung two times at him and he kept his feet moving.

I watched his left shoulder drop.

I waited for it.

He started to throw a punch and I grabbed his arm. I dropped to my knee and tossed him over my shoulder. He hit the hard floor with a thud. I twisted his arm and picked up my boot.

“One step and I’d crush your nose into your brain,” I said.

“Aye. Still got it, huh?”

I backed up and offered my other hand, bringing Cormac to his feet.

“What the f*ck is wrong with you two?” Shayna cried out.

“Nothing,” Cormac said. “Just brothers f*cking around.”