Just One Regret(8)

She reminds me of that now, with her raspy voice and half-opened eyes that I see when I look over my shoulder and watch her following me into the kitchen. Her feet barely rise from the carpet as she trudges along.

I send a silent thank you to one of my crew for setting the coffee pot. It’s already full, so I reach for two mugs in the glass cupboard above the counter.

Then I flinch as a loud shrieking sound pierces my ears and I jump back in surprise, dropping the mugs onto the counter.

The shrieking grows louder, and I can barely hear the stone mugs rolling and clanking on the gray marble countertop.

“Kennedy! Get your ass over here right now! You are fuh-reaking famous, girl!”

The sound grows louder and I turn to look at Kennedy. Her eyes are now wide open, her lips parted in surprise. She still looks half-asleep, though, and I can’t help but smile at the sexy combination.

When her friend—at least I assume it’s Sarah yelling loud enough to wake up all my men scattered in the penthouse hotel room—runs into the kitchen, both of us snap our heads in her direction.

“Look at this!”

She shoves a tablet into Kennedy’s hands. A chunk of the pipsqueak’s blond hair bounces up and down as she jumps on the balls of her feet. Who knew someone so small could be so fucking loud?

“Huh?”

I chuckle, amused at how tired Kennedy still sounds, and fill a mug for her.

Without asking, I take the tablet from her as her eyes scan it, growing wider every moment, and trade it for a cup of coffee—black, just how she always drank it.

She takes a sip and grimaces. “Sugar.”

A sense of disappointment hits me, reminding me that I don’t know this girl anymore. I grab the small cup of sugar and slide it toward her on the counter.

“What is this?” I ask, setting the tablet down and filling my own cup of coffee.

“Uh…Fresh Sports’ website.”

I ignore the sarcastic response from the Tinkerbell-sized friend and frown.

On the screen are three images.

There’s one of me pinning Mancuso to the mat. The little shit. There was no way he could beat me. Even if I hadn’t seen Kennedy before the fight, I still would have pinned his scrawny ass in the first round. I laugh at the way his face is contorted while I cut off the air to his lungs.

The second image makes me smile wider. I have my hands wrapped around Kennedy’s waist. Four men behind her look terrified. Her eyes are wider than they were just moments ago, and she’s gaping at me as I pick her up. Every blurred face in the background has the same expression on them as hers does.

A complete what the fuck look on all of them.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t care that my trainer, Rodney, was shouting at me as I pushed my way through the cage, not staying inside long enough to be praised for a fight I could have won without using my kicks at all. All I cared about in that moment were the men behind Kennedy who looked drunk and pissed off.

I don’t look at my own expression in the photo before moving on to the next one. I already know what I felt—

Six years of pent-up regret and hope that I’d someday see her again, be able to make things right.

The third photo is only slightly better. My brows are pinched together and I’m pointing in her face like I’m yelling at her. I think I told her to stay still or some shit while I grabbed Sarah. But it doesn’t look good.

It makes me look like a jackass—and that’s the last thing I want her to see me as, even if it is true.

“It’s all shit,” I mutter and reach for my mug, finally tasting the first, tongue-burning sip. “Fucking gossip rags never get the stories straight.”

“Um, I don’t really care about the articles. I care about the fact that my best friend is on the front page of all of them.”

I sigh and turn to face Sarah. Her tiny hands are on her small hips. Her lips form a pout. I can’t tell if she’s giving me shit or if she’s actually pissed, so I shrug and look at Kennedy. “You okay?”

“No.” She shakes her head and then drinks a large gulp of coffee. “I need more to drink.”

I take the half-emptied cup from her hands and fill it up. Then I pour another one for her friend, who’s still gawking at me.

“Here.” I thrust the mug into Kennedy’s waiting hands and hold the other out for Sarah to take. Filled with reluctance, she takes it and mumbles a “thanks.”

“So is anyone going to tell me how y’all know each other?” Sarah finally asks when the silence in the room hits just on the edge of awkward.

With the exception of Kennedy, I don’t explain shit to anyone. I look at her and wait for her to answer, not realizing until she speaks that I’ve been holding my breath.

When I let it out, I can’t help but release the disappointment with her words.

“Grayson and I used to be friends.”

Used to be. Friends. Fuck. We were so much more than that. Are still more than that.

I swallow, gritting my teeth together. Then I hide my lips behind the rim of my mug so neither of them can see my sneer.

“Is that your answer?” Sarah asks, turning to me.

For the first time, I break my own rule. I set my coffee down and cross my arms over my chest. Then I stare at her intently. “We were best friends. Grew up together. Then we fucked and I broke her heart.” I sound like an asshole. I don’t want to hurt her, I just want Kennedy to admit the truth. Even last night she never really admitted how much I had hurt her. Whenever we came close to anything to do with that night, we both changed the subject.

I turn to her and arch a brow. “That sound about right?”

“See?” Sarah says, her face full of glee. “Now this is information a best friend needs to know. Like…about six years ago.”

Her eyes narrow on Kennedy, who seems perfectly content ignoring both of us as she fills her veins with caffeine.

I watch as Sarah’s eyes begin to widen and her face pales. Then her mouth drops open. “Oh…”

Out of the corner of my eye, Kennedy gives a quick shake of her head. I frown as tension spikes. The two women have a silent conversation that only lasts seconds before Kennedy turns to me and smiles.

But it’s forced now. Hesitant. I don’t like it.

She blinks rapidly several times before muttering, “Sorry about that,” and wraps her lips around the black mug.

And that one small movement makes me forget the awkwardness between the two of them. I’ve never wanted to be a coffee mug so badly in my life.

I stare at her lips. At her eyes that are now showing an alertness that had been missing before the coffee. I stare at everything I can on her face, committing it to memory for when she walks out of here and I risk never seeing her again.

Decision made on the spot. That’s never going to fucking happen.

“So then,” Sarah says, making me drag my eyes off Kennedy’s pinkening cheeks and back to her. “How about we get another round of java, and then you can explain the whole story to me.”





Five





Kennedy





I can’t bring myself to look at Sarah’s determined stare or Grayson’s amused grin.

I should be slapping him for being such a jerk, but I know it’s just how he is. He’s always been blunt.

I just don’t like it when I’m the reason for the bluntness.

A heavy sigh falls from my lips. “I’ll need the coffee pot if you expect me to talk in coherent sentences.”

“I don’t know.” Sarah smiles. “Those were pretty big words you just used there. I think you’re fine.”

I chuckle. It can’t be helped. Sarah and her ability to never take life too seriously can always lighten my mood.

Rolling my eyes, I nod toward the living room. “Fine.”

“I’ll bring the coffee,” Grayson says, holding up the pot.

“You’ll stay right here and let me explain this in private.”

“Oh, I think he should come.” I want to slap Sarah’s mischievous but hesitant grin. “Seems to me out of the two of you, he might be the one more likely to be honest.”

I snort. Yeah, right. Grayson might have always been honest with me before…but that was then. This is now.

And why she’s pushing this, as I watch her slowly putting the pieces together, baffles me.

Even if Grayson and I did talk for hours last night, I refuse to let myself get wrapped up in thinking he’s sticking around. He’s got more fights scheduled, anyway. Last night and this morning are one small, brief blip on my life, a walk down memory lane before Grayson becomes just that all over again—a memory.

Which doesn’t exactly explain why I felt so comfortable this morning, wrapped in his arms, my head on his chest. I don’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing I remember before I closed my eyes was him telling me about all the places he’s been able to travel. All the cities he’s been to.

He’s been living his dream while I’ve been twenty minutes from home, never brave enough to go to all the places we dreamed of seeing when we were kids.

I envy him for it.

I sort of hate him for it, too.

Turning on my heels, I stomp out of the kitchen, letting both of them know how annoyed I am. I should feel worse, though. Even with Sarah’s teasing, I can see the small pain in her eyes that I’ve been hiding something so monumental from her.