Let Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 2) (17 page)

My eyes sting as I smile. That’s love for you, doing something for your partner just to make her happy. I want to believe that she’s better and that the mother I remember is coming back to me. So I ask the question perhaps I shouldn’t ask, “Do you think she’d know me?”

My voice is so soft I’m not sure he hears me. When he doesn’t respond right away, I’m sure that he didn’t, or worse yet, that his answer is no.

“I think she might,” he says, hope continuing to find its way into his gravely tenor voice. Except he wouldn’t be my father without saying what he says next. “Too bad you’re with that boy. Otherwise we could find out tonight.”

I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. Papi knows Finn’s name. His remarks about “that boy” and his threats to hide “that boy’s body” aside, I think he likes Finn. Does he like how practically inseparable we’ve become, or how I’m staying at his place almost every night? Oh, hell no. He’s a Latino father who owns six machetes. But despite his traditional beliefs, he wants me happy. And he knows Finn makes me happy.

“Give Mami a kiss for me, and tell her I love her,” I whisper.

“I will. Be safe,
mija
,” he says.

I disconnect, but I’ll admit, I practically jump away from the cinderblock wall when the roar of the crowd belts down the hall as if in collective pain. I push open the door to Finn’s private changing area and rush back in. “What happened? I ask.

All of Finn’s brothers, and his sister, are gathered around the giant flat-screen fixed to the wall. Except for Killian and Seamus who are helping Finn warm up.

Finn is so focused on staying loose and hitting his targets, he doesn’t answer. But as his family pulls away from the screen, he doesn’t have to.

There is Conan McDavis, former heavyweight champ, now unconscious individual face-planted on the octagon’s floor. Sofia is the first to look away, crossing her arms as her stare bounces to Finn. “He’s not getting up,” she says quietly.

“He will,” Kill says, his voice tight. He’s not looking toward the T.V., and neither is Finn, but they know what happened. The commentators are losing their minds, screaming over the amped up and hollering crowd.

“Holy God,” Wren says. Gorgeous looks aside, she’s had her share of street fights and has witnessed more MMA matches than I have. But the way she’s staring at the screen, it’s like she’s never seen so much blood.

Like Killian says, Conan the heavy weight fighter who likely just fought his last professional fight does get up . . . albeit wobbly and walking
into
the fence rather than going around it. The ringside medics rush to him, hurrying to pat down what remains of his face.

Curran touches my arm, drawing my attention. As a cop, I know he’s seen his share of pummeled up bodies, and dealt with people freaking out. . . pretty similar to what I’m close to doing. I didn’t even notice him come to my side, just like I didn’t notice my mouth dangling to the floor until I force it closed.

“You all right?” he murmurs, leaning back and crossing his arms over his super-sized chest.

“Fine,” I say, or rather squeak. I glance over my shoulder at Finn, who’s bouncing around, swinging, elbowing, spinning into his back kicks, like nothing happened. Like that poor sap didn’t just suffer major head trauma and is likely screwed up for life.

Curran drags a hand through his buzzed blond hair. “You sure?” he asks. “You don’t look too good.”

“I’m a little hungry,” I answer, lying through my teeth, wondering how the hell I’m going to get through this match.

Wren fumbles through her purse and pulls out a candy bar. “Here, have some sugar,” she says.

“Thank you,” I tell her, not bothering to argue. I rip into that candy bar like a woman possessed―scratch that―like a cavewoman possessed on an island where her caveman lover is about to be eaten by a dinosaur.

“Don’t worry, sunshine,” Finn says, adding a wink. “I’ll take you to a nice dinner after the match.”

I force what I hope is an encouraging smile, returning my focus to the screen in time to see the winner being interviewed. Good heavens. Even he seems to feel bad about what he did to Conan. He glances over his shoulder as the commentator congratulates him, watching Conan’s camp carry his slumped form out of the octagon.

Angus, Finn’s oldest brother who’s adding more bulk to his belly by ramming another donut in his mouth shakes his head. “If that’s not a career ending injury, I don’t know what is,” he says.

“Angus,” Curran warns, his attention cutting my way.

Angus ignores him, scratching his shaggy dark beard. “I mean, at the very least he’s going to need new teeth.” He shrugs. “He should have retired two years ago. Before his speech got wrecked to shit.”

“
Angus
,” Curran says again, this time louder.

Angus of course, isn’t listening, reaching for another donut. “After that shot to the skull, he’ll have to stick to coloring books and Candyland for shits and giggles.” He gives it some thought. “Hell, if he can even manage that.”

“Angus, shut up already,” Wren yells as she watches me sink to the couch. “Finn doesn’t need that shit.”

I think she means Finn
and
Sol, because her eyes are on me. But I’m not alone in how I feel. Everyone appears ill at ease following what went down these past two match-ups.

“Finn’s going to own it,” Killian says, his voice gruff as he watches Finn’s strikes.

“Yup. I’ve got it,” Finn agrees. He spins around, another perfect roundhouse kick finding Killian’s glove. Sofia and Wren sit on either side of me, watching me as I shove the rest of the candy bar in my mouth.

I’ve been fine.
Totally
and completely fine with Finn being a fighter. In the past, I even caught a few of his fights on T.V.  I know he’s tough. I’m confident he’s skilled. I’m positive he’s focused. But I’ve never actually seen him fight in a real bout, especially not as his girlfriend.

The matches I saw on T.V., were hard to watch because I knew of him and thought that he was a nice guy. Now that I well,
love
him . . . Jesus Christ and three to four disciples, how am I going to get through this?

I turn to Sofia. “How did you do it?” I ask her, keeping my voice low with the hopes Finn doesn’t hear me. “All those times you saw Killian fight, and witnessed everything he had to go through to become a champion, how did you get through it?”

Killian retired after he won the super heavyweight title, walking away from a lot of money, and earning a great deal of criticism due to his young age and the expectation to defend his title. I can understand, to some extent, where the condemnation was coming from. Killian could possibly have held the title for years, become more of a legend, and given his legions of fans more of what they wanted. But he had his reasons for leaving the fighting circuit.

The main one being Sofia.

He wanted the quality of life a lot of fighters don’t have after years spent in the ring getting punched in the skull and pushing their bodies to their breaking point. And he wanted to share that life with Sofia. As much as she never asked him to walk away, he knew it was something she wanted, and recognized how hard it was for her to watch him get hurt.

I wait for her words of wisdom, or some sort of silver lining. Yet it takes a moment for those words to come.

She rubs her hands as if gathering her thoughts. But then I realize she’s not working through what to say, she’s remembering what she saw. “It wasn’t easy,” she admits. “I . . .”

“She almost fainted during one his worst matches,” Wren finishes for her. Unlike Sofia who’s in a pretty dress, and me who didn’t know better and wore a cute top, jeans, and boots, Wren is wearing a form-fitting and very short navy dress that shows off her long legs. “Seriously,” she adds. “Sofe turned as white as my ass and we had to catch her before she fell over.”

Awesome
.

I glance back at Sofia, my eyes rounding. “I wish she was joking,” she says. “But I really had a hard time being strong.” She takes my hand in hers, motioning to the T.V... “These fights are brutal. Sometimes the referees don’t stop them in time, but more often the fighters keep going, their desire to win interfering with their logic to stop.”

“Like Conan?” I ask.

She nods. “Every now and then, Killian wrestles with whether to return to the octagon. He’s a fighter at heart, and a fighter’s mentality is hard to change. But then he’ll catch a match like this one, or run into a former fighter with permanent injuries. Those moments remind him that he wants more for him and us.”

I squeeze her hand. “I’m glad Killian walked away before he was permanently injured. But Sofia, Finn’s not there yet. It’ll be years before he even thinks about retiring. All he talks about is his next fight, or the one after that, or how the belt is going to feel when he raises it over his head. He loves what he does. That fighter mentality you mentioned? He’s has it, and he’s not letting go.” I sigh. “I don’t want him hurt. But knowing how much MMA means to him, I want to be there to support him.”

“So be there,” she says. “Just be prepared for him to get hurt.” She bows her head. “Not that it helped me.”

“I hear you,” Wren agrees. “Sometimes, it’s all I can do not to look away.”

Wren was quiet during our conversation. If you knew anything about Wren it speaks volumes. But she’s listening, and she cares. “I’m sure,” I say, acknowledging her worry. “I mean, you love him, too.”

She grins, her smile reminding me of Finn’s. “You sayin’ you love my brother?”

I tilt my head. My voice is soft, but I mean what I say. “I really do.”

My words and tone give her pause and dull her smile, but not in a bad way. “Good,” she says. “I think you’re what he needs.”

It’s not the first time one of his siblings has told me that. From what I’ve gathered from the recent family functions we’ve attended, Finn’s drinking had been out of control and he was advised to stop. He still drinks when we go out, a couple beers or so, but he’s never been out of hand around me. It’s likely because we’re making up for that high with the ridiculous amount of sex we’ve been having.

I’m not complaining. Sex with Finn is so personal. I’ve never experienced the amount of intimacy I feel with anyone else but him. I think, or at least
hope
, he feels it, too. The way we talk afterward, and the way we hold onto each other, it’s like we’re afraid to let go.

My attention drifts back to where he’s warming up, seemingly unaffected by the chaos unleashing in the octagon as the next fight commences. I can’t say I’m exactly what Finn needs, nor that I’m the person who has helped him get better. His intense counseling sessions have played a big role. That much he’s shared. Yet we both realize he has a long way to go.

Just last week when we went out, some idiot hit on me and refused to back off. I thought Finn was going to break him in half and kick the leftovers aside. I’ve honestly never seen him so angry. Thankfully his brothers were there to haul him back, giving me time to calm him and convince him to walk away. Not that he was happy about it.

“I don’t want anyone touching you,” he told me. “I mean it, Sol. No one’s going to hurt you, especially around me.”

I recognize where his protectiveness stems from, as well as his rage. That doesn’t make it any easier to witness.

That rage is so pronounced, I can sense it behind his smiles and soft touches, and I’m not alone. To avoid trouble, Killian arranged for all the fighters training with him and Finn to have a separate changing area. Finn lost his mind on another opponent and his trainer following his last match. Killian was worried what Finn might do if someone was looking for trouble, but also what his fighters might do as well.

Finn is well-liked by a lot of the other professional fighters, especially the ones who’ve trained alongside him, and who’ve followed his career. They’re just as capable of starting fights in defense of Finn. And an all-out brawl between MMA fighters is the last thing anyone wants backstage.

“Do you think you might pass out?” Wren asks me as I continue to take in Finn.

I consider her comment. Finn is so . . .
mine
. I shake my head. “I’m more worried I might climb into the cage and jump on his opponent’s back.”

“No, shit,” Wren says, sounding impressed. “Hey. Been there too many times.”

“I’m going to advise you against that one,” Sofia says, laughing softly. Her humor vanishes when she glances up at the screen.

Once more the crowd in the arena is losing their minds, the commentators yelling to be heard. “
Oh
!” Finn’s brothers yell at once.

A super heavyweight fighter who Killian faced years ago, is lying motionless on the mat, his jaw dangling off to the side. I rise slowly with Wren, clutching my heart.

“He broke his jaw,” Angus says. Out of all the things that occurred in tonight’s bloodbath, this is the one he can’t seem to watch. He abruptly turns from the screen and marches to the opposite side of the training area, tossing the donut in his hand in the trash.

Everyone is silent. Dead silent. But I can’t blame them. I’ve seen my share of fights and you can consider me a fan even long before I started dating Finn. But I’ve never seen back to back matches end like this.

I point to the screen when Curran the cop edges my way. “Is this, um, common?” I ask.

I really don’t have to ask seeing how wide his eyes are. “Nope. I’ve never seen so much shit go down in one night.” He hurries out the door when someone knocks, shutting it behind him.

“Bad juju,” Angus says. “That octagon is cursed or some shit.”

“Nice, Angus,” Wren says, rolling her eyes.

I start to pace, only to determine I’m better off sitting. But as soon as my butt touches the couch, Curran rushes back in and I’m back on my feet.

“Finn, it’s time,” he says. He turns my way. “If you’re going to watch, now’s the time to take your seats.”

Almost silently, and stoically, Finn’s brothers and the girls start piling toward the door, stopping only to hug Finn, murmur words of encouragement, and
cross themselves as they step away
! I know they mean well. I was raised Catholic, too, but this whole funeral vibe they have going on is doing little to soothe me.