Untamed (65 page)

He’s right of course. He could never do that.

But sometimes I wish
I
could.

I take a flyer from my bag. Duncan’s on it wearing nothing but his fighting shorts. The lines of his body are cut deep, and he’s staring straight into the camera. His jaw is a sharp cut, shadowed, and his lips full, endlessly kissable. And then there are those striking, blue eyes.

The girls in the back are right, of course… his eyes are something else.

“Don’t tell me
you
fancy him,” Frank says. “That would be wrong. He’s your brother.”

Once again I look at Frank, now a growing feeling of unease in my belly. I correct him: “My adopted brother.”

Frank grunts. “You know, little sisters… and he’s more like a cousin or something, anyway.”

“Don’t tell me you’re opening up to me about your own childhood fantasies, Frank.”

He barks out a hoarse laugh. But little does Frank realize he’s right on the money… he’s always had a nose for these things.

I rub my belly absent-mindedly.

I turn my eyes back down at the flyer. They were handed out all around town the last few days. The biggest underground MMA cage fight of the year.

Duncan ‘Creature’ Malone versus ‘Manic’ Conrad Butler. Their nicknames aren’t exactly oblique; they describe their respective fighting styles perfectly.

I sigh, wipe my eyes over Duncan’s almost-naked body. We’ve been joined at the hip, inseparable, for so long. It’s not been all good though, but what is? Ups and downs are a part of life. It’s like a heartbeat monitor. No ups and downs means you’re dead inside.

But now… now I’ve got to break the biggest news of his life to him… of
my
life, too. Something I only just found out for sure this morning. Something I only just worked up the courage to go through with.

Of course, I already knew. The body doesn’t lie.

I fold up the flyer, put it back into my bag. I’m just going to have to come out and say it. It’s not going to be easy, but I have to, no matter how worried I am about what he might think. I keep doubting myself. I keep telling myself,
Don’t think you know him that well. Don’t think you can predict what he’ll say
.

I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just a way to protect myself. Dim expectations are a suit of emotional armor.

But I know what Duncan is like on fight nights. He’s so amped-up, so psychologically prepared to beat a man to within inches of his life, to get him into a choke hold and black him out, or to take a twisted shoulder right to its limit before it pops out of the joint, or the same to a knee.

When he’s that way, it’s often hard to get through to him. He puts up a mental shield, becomes resistant to considering anything but the fight. His face will drain of emotion, become statuesque.

That’s
his
mental suit of armor.

“We’re here,” Frank says a few minutes later. We drive toward a chain-link fence that swings open automatically, and then we’re on a short runway for small aircraft. We drive to the end, where a narrow beam of light splits the foggy night. The huge, sliding doors to a plane hangar are slightly open. Compared to the size of the building, they look open only a sliver, but I’ve little doubt the gap is wide enough to fit an SUV through.

I pull out my mirror from my bag, check my makeup quickly, rub smudged eyeliner away under my eyes. I don’t want Duncan to know I was crying earlier. Panic got the better of me, but only for a moment.

“You okay?” Frank asks. “You seem a little down tonight.”

“I’m fine,” I whisper back at him.

“Don’t want to watch the fight?”

I shake my head. “Watch my… watch Duncan take punches so Dad can earn more money? Not really.”

Now there’s a stony silence, and I look at Frank, that uneasy feeling in my belly turning into nausea.

“What is it, Frank?”

“You been avoiding your old man for a reason?” he asks.

I freeze. “What?”

“Forget it. Not my place.”

I swallow.
Does he know?
How could he possibly?

“What is this about, Frank? Don’t clam up on me.”

“Just you never come around the house anymore. He’s worried about you, Deidre.”

“No, he’s worried about himself.”

“Deidre, it’s not like that. I…” Frank’s voice trails off. “It’s not my place. You get going, now.”

I peer at him, decide not to push it so I don’t look suspicious, and then my gaze goes past him and out the driver’s side window. The three girls are all walking toward the hangar, their steps wobbly, and likely not just from their insane ankle-breakers.

“You let them do anything in the car?”

“Of course not!” Frank says, instantly indignant. “Rules are rules. They just drank the champagne. They’re on something, though, but it was before they got in.”

“Great,” I say, shaking my head. “Just great. Thanks for the ride, Frank.”

“Don’t sweat it. Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Tell Duncan I wish him luck.”

“Sure.”

Frank grins. “I put fifty-large on him tonight.”

“Alright, Frank,” I say.

I get out of the car, fix my bag over one shoulder, and walk toward the hangar in a perfume-drenched wake.

Chapter Twenty Six