Raw Deal (Larson Brothers #1)(15)
“That was . . .” Horror dawned in her eyes. “Are you f*cking kidding me?”
“I don’t think it’s well publicized that they’re related. I didn’t know, either.”
But Rowan’s mind was apparently going in a completely different direction. She placed both hands flat on the table and shot several inches up out of her chair. “You’re telling me,” she began slowly, “that was Zane Larson and he saw me act like that?”
“I’m sure he understands you were upset—”
“Fuck! Savannah!” Rowan’s sloppy bun became even sloppier when she dropped back into her seat and shoved her hands into her hair in exasperation. “You haven’t said a word about this in all this time!”
“I didn’t know what to do! But I talked to Mike again, and he made this offer thinking—”
“Wait, you talked to him again? How many times have you talked to this guy?”
“Just once more, I promise. He’s trying to help, Rowan. I told him you were a big fan of his brother’s, and he said he could get us in anywhere and fly us there too, but the tour wraps up in Houston, which would be closest for us. He said we don’t have to see him at all.”
Her face unreadable, Rowan looked down at her swatches and blindly fiddled with them for a moment before dropping them and leaning back in her chair. “Wow. Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s totally, totally up to you, okay? I really don’t even like their music.” She chuckled and drank her tea, letting Rowan stew for a while in all of this shocking new information. At least none of the explosion had really been directed toward her. Yet. Give her time to think about it.
“What if he’s an *?” Rowan blurted out after a couple of minutes.
“Then I guess you’ll know, at least.”
“They say to never meet your idols.”
“Oh, is he an idol now?”
“He always has been. His music has really gotten me through a lot of stuff; I thought you knew that. He must have had it pretty rough himself growing up, given some of his lyrics.”
“I kind of got that impression from some of the things Mike said. I don’t know.”
Rowan snatched her phone up from the tabletop and typed furiously for a few seconds. “The last show is in three weeks. Let me think about it. I mean . . . this is something we probably couldn’t tell your parents about. They would go apeshit if they knew I was traipsing off to a rock concert in my condition.”
“Your condition? You’re pregnant, not dying. I’m sure it’ll be fine, but no, I wouldn’t tell them anything except maybe we’re going away for a girls’ weekend.”
“Even that would probably freak them out, the way they’re carrying on. God! I feel like I’m totally dreaming right now.”
She’s going, Savannah thought to herself. She might not like it, but she’s going. Her relief at having her confession out there was so strong it was practically a weight in itself.
“But Savvy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d really rather Zane’s brother not be there.”
“He’ll be there, but like I said, he said he’ll stay away.”
“Good.”
“Rowan—”
She put a hand up to stop her. “I appreciate what he’s doing for us, but I’m not ready to have to face him. I don’t know if I ever will be. Please thank him for me, but I don’t want to see him. If that’s a problem for him, then I guess I’ll stay home.”
She wouldn’t even say his name. She hadn’t said it once throughout this entire conversation. Savannah sighed and picked up the amaretto swatch, determined not to argue. Rowan felt how she felt, and she had every right. Nothing would change that. “I like this one.”
Chapter Five
Sweat stung his eyes. His muscles screamed. Every jab to the bag jarred up his arms and every kick had the entire force of his body behind it. Mike wasn’t sure if his training was more about maintaining his fitness or exorcising his demons lately, but when faces from his past began to drift across the heavy bag, he amped up his blows. Fuck you, and f*ck you, and f*ck you, too . . .
Until the images changed and Tommy Dugas stood glaring at him in a defensive stance. The roar of a crowd in chaos echoed in his ears. Mike backpedaled, his arms dropping. “Time,” his coach, Jon, called none too soon. Mike stripped off his gloves and unwound his hand tape, breathing hard. “Are we done?” Jon asked him, raising an eyebrow.
“For now we are.”
“You all right?”
Mike took a long pull from his water bottle and doused his overheated, sweat-drenched head with the rest of the liquid. Gradually, the familiar, comforting grunts and thuds and metal clanging of the gym began to filter back in through his addled thoughts, pushing out the cheers and screams and jeers of an Attack Force MMA main event audience. Maybe it was only his imagination, but when he glanced around, he thought he noticed several gazes suddenly darting off somewhere else. He wiped the sweat and water out of his eyes with the towel Jon handed him. “Yeah.”
But Jon knew him better than anyone else in his life, except for maybe his brothers. Only ten years older, he’d been like a father figure from the time Mike was in high school, trying his damnedest to keep Mike’s ass out of juvy until the magical age of seventeen when he began trying to keep his ass out of jail. They’d met when Mike had marched black eyed into the gym Jon owned and demanded to learn how to fight. Schoolyard brawls were all he knew back then, and though he’d held his own in most of them, he’d wanted skill. He never wanted to lose. He wanted those f*ckers to flee in terror rather than face him. The only skill Jon had wanted to teach him at first was how to walk away. Once he figured that out, Jon had told him, then he would show him a thing or two.