His brother looked at him—so weak, so lost, so desperate. “I killed her,” he whispered.
Tyson swallowed hard. “An aneurysm killed her.”
Connor shook his head. “Dad doesn’t believe that . . . He’s never . . .” He coughed, and the sentence went unfinished, as he closed his eyes, and tears mixed with sweat on his cheek.
Anything Connor could have said to finish the sentence was true. His father never . . . a lot of things. Then again, his brother had never made it easy.
Tyson could go back and forth all day trying to find a reason for the dysfunction between his father and brother, but it wouldn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. The two men had never understood each other. Connor’s intellect and lack of physical strength and ability had been a disappointment to their father, a man who’d hoped both of his sons would follow in his footsteps. Alan Reed didn’t hide the fact he had a favorite son and he’d never made time for Connor.
But the truth was, it was hard for anyone to get close to Connor. He was always stuck in his own head, battling who he was with the desire of who he wanted to be.
“At least he got you,” Connor was saying as though sharing Tyson’s thoughts. “The good son, the great champion . . .” His voice was far away as he drifted off into a troubled sleep.
Tyson slumped onto the floor next to the couch. The good son, the great champion. He wondered if his brother had any idea the weight of that responsibility.
Chapter 7
“What’s in the bag?” Connor asked as Tyson entered his office later the next day.
“A Halloween costume,” he grumbled, not in the mood for his brother’s thoughts on the subject. “Better question—what are you doing in here?” He hung the garment bag behind the door.
“The delivery guys showed up with the new display case, and they said they required a Reed’s signature . . .” Connor said. “So, I thought the least I could do was install it.”
Tyson turned, finally noticing the new case on the wall. It was bigger than the old one and all of the trophies and belts fit perfectly displayed behind the glass. “You did this?”
Connor nodded.
He cleared his throat. “Great, thanks . . .”
“I better go . . .” Connor said in the strained silence that followed.
The night before had been awkward to say the least, as Tyson had tried to help his brother battle through the withdrawal symptoms he’d expected to have started to go away by now. Connor had finally fallen asleep after midnight, his head on Tyson’s lap. He hadn’t known what to do and he hadn’t wanted to wake him for fear of having to deal with more anguish, so he’d slept sitting up on the couch.
“I’ll see ya later,” Connor said, leaving the office.
Tyson sighed. He was going to regret this. “Hey, Connor, if you want some work . . . um, you could clean or something . . .” He shrugged. There was little to clean. He always kept the gym in perfect condition and his guys knew to take care of the equipment, but if it would help to keep his brother off his couch all day long, every day? He refused to think there was more to his offer than that.
Connor nodded eagerly as he stuffed his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans. In the two weeks of detoxing, he’d gained a bit of weight and his eyes looked clearer. “Yeah, I can do that. Whatever you need . . .”
His eagerness made Tyson feel uneasy and he almost wished he hadn’t said anything. “Go grab a broom or something,” he said distractedly, seeing Parker enter the gym.
His heart was a base drum deep in his chest as the memory of the day before returned. His mouth went dry as he watched her remove her hoodie to reveal her lime green sports bra. He really should implement a full T-shirt dress code in the gym. It hadn’t mattered before Parker’s beautiful, full chest had arrived, driving everyone, himself included—maybe him most of all—to distraction. But now the guys might appreciate it . . . or hate him for it.
When she caught his stare, she smiled. A soft, knowing smile as though they shared a secret from the rest of the world.
Damn it. He was in trouble. The best thing to do would be to try to put some distance there. Train her like he said he would, but not get too friendly, too close . . .
Too fucking late for that, he thought as she came into the office. The day before they’d gotten really friendly and really close. “Hi.”
“Hey . . . hi,” he mumbled, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever had to see a woman again after a one-night stand . . . Trying to form a coherent thought was proving challenging, especially with the recurring flashbacks from the night before on repeat in his mind.
She studied him. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah . . . great . . .”
“So . . .”
Oh great. Here it was—the morning-after conversation. There would be no getting through that in one piece, so he quickly cut her off, “Hey, are you doing anything tonight?” he asked, immediately regretting it when her eyes lit up.
“Um . . . I was planning to visit my grandmother, help her give out Halloween candy . . .”
Right. She had a life. Her world didn’t revolve around training the way his did. “Yeah, okay.”
“Were you wanting to train? Because I can . . .”
He shook his head quickly. “No. No . . . It . . . There’s just a stupid Halloween thing tonight.”
“You’re asking me to go to a Halloween party with you?” She looked more than a little surprised.
“No. I mean you have plans . . .”
She stepped forward. “I’d rather go to the party with you.”
Man, he felt like a tongue-tied teenager asking a pretty girl to prom. What the hell was wrong with him?
“But I have to admit, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Halloween kind of guy.” She sat on the edge of his desk and trailed a hand along his.
He laughed. “I’m not. I’m going as a favor to Walker’s fiancée, Grace. She just started her own publicity firm and this Halloween event is her first big job. She’s calling in all sorts of favors for a great turnout. She helped me with promotion with the gym when it first opened. It seems I sort of have an open-ended debt to her.” He’d thought he was off the hook after agreeing to let Walker train with his camp. Obviously not.
“That makes more sense.” Parker paused. “So . . . Halloween party. Should I wear a costume?”
He sighed. Going to the door, he reached for the garment bag from Spooktacular—the costume rental place around the corner from the gym. He unzipped the bag to reveal a white suit, splattered in blood, one sleeve ripped off and the tie covered in what was supposed to look like brain matter. “The theme is Zombie Burlesque.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” He zipped the bag shut before the other guys training near the office could see the ridiculous costume. Grace would owe him one after that evening.
“Zombie Burlesque . . .” she repeated slowly. “So basically bloodstained lingerie and a feather boa?”
His dick hardened instantly. In her training gear she was a walking poster girl for any athletic apparel company . . . naked, she was mind-blowing. In lingerie, she just might kill him. He quickly busied himself with his computer. “Yeah, that sounds fine,” he croaked.
She smiled. “Great. It’s a date then.”
Shit. Did she have to go and label it? “Okay . . . why don’t you go warm up and I’ll be there in a bit.” Once his hard-on disappeared.