11

Quincy

"What brings you here?" Nathaniel spins a chair around and sits astride it. Whether intentional or coincidental, he keeps his face in shadow.

"Last I heard, this was a weekly poker gathering open to all Carringtons." It's not my preferred place to be. But when even work fails to divert my thoughts from her, I opted to accept Amarlo's invitation to join the poker game.

"I thought you'd be with your lady," Nathaniel remarks.

"Lady?" Sinclair Sterling, a business associate turned friend with whom I've shared many dinners, gazes between us. "You have a lady?"

"Or should I say, girl?" Nathaniel twists his lips, causing the scars on his face to tense. Combined with his towering height, muscular physique from his military background and regular workouts, he's a formidable presence. He's one intimidating guy. No wonder he prefers to keep his face concealed whenever possible.

"Girl?" Sinclair furrows his brow. "What am I missing here?"

"What Nathaniel is trying to point out is that she’s younger than me."
"More than two decades younger." He smirks. "And she’s his son’s ex," he adds.
I expect Sinclair to do a double-take, but instead, he appears thoughtful. "She’s you son’s ex?"
"He stood her up at the altar."

Sinclair whistles. "I assume that means your son is no longer interested in her?"
"About that—" I shuffle my feet. “He apologized to her, and it didn’t look like she wanted anything to do with him, but it means?—"
"It means, it’s a bloody shit-show," Nathaniel drawls.
"Why her?" Sinclair looks at me with curiosity.
"Why not her?" I growl.

When he stays silent, I sigh, then loosen the tie around my neck. My mind's not in the right place… And is not going to be until I convince her we belong together. It’s less than twenty-four hours since I met her and there hasn’t been a minute when I haven’t thought about her. I rub the back of my neck. I need her in my life.

"Quincy?"

I glance at Sinclair. "Have you ever looked at someone and realized exactly what was missing in your life? Have you seen her and known you’d do anything to be with her? To have her in your life... no matter what?"

Sinclair appears taken aback, then his expression softens. "Like that, huh?"

Nathaniel chuckles. "No clue what you two are on about, but as someone who’s never felt that and doesn’t plan to, it sounds like nonsense."

Sinclair smirks. "Don’t say that too loudly. Fate has a way of surprising you and making you do things you swore you never would."

"Not me," Nathaniel declares, retrieving a cigar from the humidor and offering it to me. When I decline, he shrugs and passes one to Sinclair. Then he prepares one for himself, snipping off the end and lighting it up.

Sinclair and I exchange glances. "The more confident they are, the harder they fall," he murmurs.

"Whatever. Meanwhile, I'm here to witness the drama that is your life," he nods in my direction.

"The drama is just a distraction. She belongs to me, no matter what," I assert.

Sinclair puffs on his cigar. "Does she know that? And more importantly, does she accept it?"

"She will."

"And what about your son?"

I shake my head. "When Lawrence's mother left, I knew it was my fault. I couldn't stop her, but I promised myself I would make it up to my son. Every time I left on a military mission during his childhood, that was my intention, but I never stayed back for more than a few days at a time." I gaze down at my hands. "I eased my guilt by ensuring my aunt cared for him, so he never lacked anything. He received the best education money could buy. When I couldn't attend his graduation because of another mission, I sent enough money for the celebrations with his friends. I always told myself I would make up for the lost time with him, but... I never did."

“And now?” Sinclair holds the cigar in between his fingers.

The ash builds before I speak.
“Now? I’ve hurt him in a way I’m not sure our relationship will recover from. It hurts, and I know it’s wrong, and yet”—I lower my chin— “I’m compelled to push through with my decision to marry her.

I've made a lot of mistakes in life, but when I met her… It feels like I've been given a second chance. And this time, I’m not making promises I can’t keep. Not to him; not to her, not to myself. This time, I’m going to reorient my life so that I can keep my word to the people who matter most to me.”

I follow him and extend my arm to grab his shoulder, but he turns, deflects it, and raises a fist. I feel the air rush by, not because I dodged, but because he stops just millimeters from hitting my face. His jaw tightens, and tension ripples through his cheek muscles. Anger flashes in his eyes, directed at me, and it's warranted. While what occurred isn't entirely my fault, he holds me accountable.

"I get it now," I say.

He furrows his brow.

"I understand what it's like to lose the woman you believe is your soulmate."

Sinclair looks like he’s about to speak, when Rayden, my other nephew, stalks in. He spots me and hatred spreads across his features. He spins around and is about to leave, but I jump up.

"Stop!"

His gaze widens. The anger fades, and in its place is regret and sadness, and a tortured wistfulness that tells me how much he misses her. How much he yearns for her. How much his life is not worth living anymore, now that she’s no longer in it.

Twenty-four hours ago, I wouldn’t have understood the full extent of his agony. But having met my ‘one’, having felt that instinctive connection with her I know won’t come with anyone else, I have a better understanding of why Rayden is so livid. If I were in his shoes… I’d be… Heartbroken and want revenge. I’d want to find a way to take out my anger on the person I thought was responsible for her death. I’d be maddened with grief and pain. I’d need an outlet. One I could provide. I allow my lips to twist.

"A fight," I offer.

The fold between his eyebrows deepens.
"You and me, in the ring?” I incline my head.

Rayden glares at me, then turns to Nathaniel. Something unsaid passes between the brothers.
Nathaniel stiffens. He seems like he's about to say something, then nods in his brother’s direction. “Can you give us a second?” Without waiting for his reply, he pulls me out of earshot. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Not only are you not going to be able to defeat him, but he’s going to pulverize you.”

“I’m aware"

“Are you?” Nathaniel regards me with skepticism. “He’s fast and he’s built like a tank. He’s got at least twenty pounds on you, most of it muscle. You realize, he won the Royal Marine’s flagship boxing tournament three years running? If he hadn’t joined the Marines, he might well have competed professionally. You, on the other hand?—”
“—fought in the finals and won the title one year, but never made it past the semis again,” I state.

Nathaniel looks at me closely. “You realize, you can’t win? In fact, you’re setting yourself up to be injured.”

“Good,” I say under my breath.
“The fuck?” He scowls. “What are you up to, old man?”
“The fuck does it matter to you?”
“It doesn’t. In fact, it's better for me if you’re out of commission. It sends a message to Amarlo that I’m more reliable than you when it comes to taking on a position of responsibility in the company. But it seems, not even I can stand by and allow another man to plan his own funeral. Apparently, I have a sliver of conscience left that insists I point out the inevitable injuries that will follow this offer.”

When I stay silent, his gaze narrows. “Unless…” He snaps his fingers. “That's your plan… To have him beat you up? You want to give him a chance to get some of his antagonism out of his system?”

I bark out a laugh. “You think?”
He nods slowly. “You’ll never be able to make up for your actions that got his wife killed. Apologizing for it can never be enough. But you can offer him the chance to beat you, fair and square. A symbolic defeat in a fight which might go some way toward helping him find some resolution…”

“It’s the least I can do.” I raise a shoulder. “I always thought of what happened to her as collateral damage. I made the choice to prioritize the lives of thousands over that of a few. It’s the way of war. But it doesn’t lessen the personal impact of my actions. She died because of the decision I made. I have to live with that on my conscience. And he must live with a broken heart.” I look past Nathaniel’s shoulder to where Rayden stands.

His shoulders are tense, his fingers curled into fists at his side. His gaze is locked on the two of us.

“Does this have something to with the woman you proposed to?”
I jerk my attention back to Nathaniel’s face. “What do you mean?”
“You’re competing for the love of someone decades younger than you. Perhaps you want to prove a point to her, and to yourself, that you still have the mojo?”

“Don’t be stupid. I don’t need to prove a point...” my voice trails off. Or maybe I do?
Nathaniel nods knowingly.
I rub the back of my neck. “Perhaps you’re right. But that’s not the only reason to take on this fight.”

“Pray, explain that to me, Einstein.” Nathaniel smirks.

“It was my actions which indirectly caused Rayden’s wife to be killed in action. It’s why he’s angry with me. I’ve tried to speak with him about this, but he refuses to engage in conversation. If this is the only way to communicate with him then I’ll take it.” If this is the only way to get some kind of redemption, then I’ll take that, too.

I deserve to be beaten up by Rayden for the grief my actions caused him. “It’ll force a conversation, at the very least.”

“There are better ways to build bridges with Rayden.”
“But none that will give him a chance to get some of the frustration out of his system.”
Nathaniel begins to speak, but I brush past him and toward Rayden.

"You’re going to lose," Rayden’s voice is gravelly from un-use. Since his wife’s death, he’s retreated into himself. He’s taken to speaking only when absolutely necessary. I’m responsible for that. My heart seizes up. My stomach pitches like I’ve been caught in an automobile pile up.
"Rayden." I curl my fingers into fists at my sides. "I’m so fucking sorry for what you went through.”
"Yet, you maintain that you wouldn’t take back your order for anything?" he snaps.
"I had to make a split-second decision between saving a few lives and saving those of thousands. You’d have done the same if you were in my position.”

“Don’t compare yourself to me. We are nothing alike.” His gaze turns venomous.
"Fucking hell!" I grab the back of my neck and squeeze. "It’s why we need this fight. You need to take out your grievance against me?—"
"I’ll kill you." There’s a note of finality in his tone, which sends a chill down my spine.
"Probably,"—I set my jaw—"but I’m willing to take that chance if it helps clear the air between us."

He scoffs.

"You’re right, probably unlikely, but I have to try.” I take a step forward, he growls. But for the first time since his wife died, a gleam comes into his eyes. Some of that despair in his gaze fades.

He looks me up and down. "You’re old."
"That your excuse?" I taunt him, not because I want to sharpen his pain, but because I need him to fight me.

He bares his teeth. "It’s your funeral, asshole. Pick a date and time."

"How about tomorrow night?"