Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(87)
“Is that a question?” I cock a hip, raise my eyebrows, and she squirms in response. Yep, something is definitely up.
Blake chokes and clears his throat.
“Mom, I know you’re hiding something, and if you don’t tell me what it is, I’ll worry all day. Just tell me. Whatever it is, I can take it.”
Blake mumbles, “She’ll find out on her own eventually.”
“I’ll find out what?”
She pinches her eyes closed and shoves the phone at me. “Here.”
I approach cautiously, snag the device, and hit the screen.
My breath catches in my throat.
It’s a photo from an online news article. Killian and Fleur are walking together, his arm slung over her shoulders. He’s leaning in deep to whisper in her ear, and whatever he’s saying makes her smile.
But that’s not the worst part. After all, seeing them together isn’t new to me.
The worst part is the view behind them.
They’re in Paris.
Walking away from The Eiffel Tower.
And the caption on the story reads, “UFL Superstar Killian McCreery Bringing his Love Back to the States.”
There’s an article that follows, which details his week-long stay in Paris. The journalist alludes to the fact that he was there to meet her parents and is now bringing her to Vegas to meet his and possibly get hitched at one of the quickie chapels here in town.
I finish the article, take a deep fortifying breath, and hand the phone back.
“You okay?” Blake’s eyes are settled on mine with concern.
“It hurts a little, but yeah, I’m okay.” I grab a handful of blueberries from a bowl on the table. “He’s not the Killian I knew anymore, and this new Killian seems happy.” I shrug. “That’s all I ever wanted for him.”
My mom stands and wraps me in a hug. “Is that the truth or is that for our benefit?”
“It’s the truth. I’ll always love Kill, but I don’t know him anymore. I mean the Kill I knew wouldn’t wear Gucci loafers and Armani suits. I’m not saying he doesn’t look good, but…” He does; he really, really does look good. “That kind of guy would never be interested in someone like me anyway.”
“That’s a load of bullshi—uh…” Blake’s eyes dart to Jack, who is still blissfully buried in his breakfast. “That’s not true. And from what I hear, the media is blowing this relationship out of proportion. Caleb says they’re just friends.”
“Who kiss?”
Blake shrugs.
“After every single fight?”
He seems less confident, but still shrugs, this time only one shoulder. “It’s possible.”
“So the article said he’s coming home. When?”
Mom and Blake share a meaningful glance, and then she turns to me with sympathy written all over her face. “They got in last night.”
My eyes widen and my pulse speeds. “They’re here? Now?”
“Yeah, and you should be prepared because—”
I hold up my hand. “Mom, please, don’t worry about me. I promise whatever happened a year ago is in the past. We’ve both moved on. I’m really happy about where I am in life, and I think it’s safe to say he is too.”
Blake sighs and doesn’t look at all convinced. “If you say so, kiddo.”
“Right. Well, I better get to work.” I grin and race out the door and straight to work, fighting my nerves the entire way.
Thirty
Killian
Feels good to be home.
I’d forgotten how much I miss the heat until I felt the dry sixty-degree weather when we walked out of the airport at an ungodly hour. We managed to get to our hotel with only a few camera flashes, and after twelve full hours of sleep and room service, I’m feeling mostly human again.
“I swear to God if you embarrass me I will kick your arse.” Ollie’s been warning his sister about her fangirling since we touched ground, and he’s driving the point home now that we’re walking through the parking lot to the UFL Training Center’s doors.
“I am sweating like a pig, but I can’t tell if it’s nerves or because it’s f*cking hot here.” Fleur holds tight to my arm as if I’m her life preserver in rough seas.
“Seventy-two is nothing. The summers are brutal.” I ruffle her hair. “Stop being such a girl.”
Caleb ended up crashing with Rex and Gia, and Laise, Henry, Jay, and Liam all hit the bars and gambling once they got to their hotel last night, so none of them were answering their phones when we tried to get them to come along.
Opening the doors, I’m hit with the blast of air conditioning, the sound of metal music pumping through the speakers, and the familiar scent of sweat and rubber mats. Yep, smells like home.
“Hey, Vanessa.” I greet the receptionist and grin as she takes me in appreciatively.
“Welcome home.” She hits a button on the phone. “Layla, can you let him know the kid is home?” She rolls her eyes at whatever Layla says then hangs up. Apparently, the year I was away didn’t mend fences between the two women. “Congratulations on your fights. Seems like just yesterday you were here washing towels and cleaning toilets.”