“Is he driving or are you?”

  “He is.”

  Laney looked out the window again. “You should take his bike. It’s fun.”

  “It’s garaged. Has been since the accident.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she replied, feigning surprise. “I forgot he doesn’t take you on it.”

  “He doesn’t ride it all anymore.”

  She grinned, glancing at me. “It used to be all he wanted to ride.”

  It was a dig. A not so subtle one referring to herself as the bike, and it pissed me off.

  Why? Why now even when we were supposed to be over it and sisters again? Why when she sat there pregnant with the baby of a man she genuinely loved and I had postponed mine and Kellen’s plans to accommodate her wedding errands?

  Because Laney was petty, that’s why. She was a brat. Always had been, always would be.

  And that’s why after a stonily silent car ride to the dress shop I waited until my fitting for my bridesmaids dress was done and hers was only getting started, and I bailed. It was five, meaning Kellen and I had plenty of time to get on the road and get to Vegas at a reasonable hour, so I hugged her goodbye, told her to call a cab, and said deuces to the bitch.

  “You did not call her a bitch,” Kellen later accused.

  I grinned. “Maybe not out loud but I did in my heart.”

  “If you want to go for a ride on the Harley I’ll take you.”

  “No, I’m good. That’s not what it was about anyway.”

  “I wanna say that I can’t believe she threw it in your face like that, but I can. I’m not at all surprised.”

  “I am,” I grumbled. “I thought were good.”

  “I don’t know if Laney will ever be good with any of this.”

  “It’s been a year. She’s engaged to someone else. She’s pregnant!”

  Kellen shook his head resolutely. “Doesn’t matter. She’ll always make jabs like that. We’ll be old and gray with grandkids and she’ll still throw it down like a gauntlet just to make everyone uncomfortable. She’s trolling. She wants you to take the bait and get upset.”

  “She wants me to get irate so that she’s the calm one.”

  “She likes being the victim.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned, my head falling back on the headrest. “It’ll never stop.”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll disown her.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I’ll stop talking to her.”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll tell her to stop?”

  “You will, but it won’t help.”

  I groaned again, this time collapsing onto the bench seat and laid my head next to Kellen’s thigh. He reached down and rested his hand on my hip, heavy and reassuring.

  “Every time I think it’s over it starts up again,” I complained quietly.

  Kellen sat in silence next to me, no words of wisdom to soothe me, no advice to give to help me. So he offered me silence and a steady hand on my hip as he drove us east into the desert. As the street lights thinned and cities faded behind us, bringing in the stars and the moon lilting lazily across an ink black sky.

  It was nothing but it was enough, and I fell asleep there under the moon and his hand.

  ***

  “Jenna,” Kellen whispered. His hand shook my shoulder gently. “Hey. Wake up.”

  I blinked rapidly, waking slowly. I was looking at the unlit console of his truck and yet the inside of the car was lit up like Christmas. But it was night. What the hell was happening?

  “Where are we?” I mumbled, sitting up slowly.

  “Las Vegas.”

  “Seriously? I slept the whole way?”

  “Silently,” he replied sarcastically.

  I glared at him where he stood outside the open door. “Let me guess. I was snoring again?”

  His eyes were laughing. “No.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I said no!”

  “Only with your words.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” he said innocently, offering me his hand.

  I took it and let him help me out of the truck down to the asphalt. Our bag was waiting patiently next to him. The second I stepped out of the truck I was hit with a wind that whipped my hair behind my head and swirled around me, warm and dry. We were on the top floor of a parking garage packed with other vehicles. It sat at least four stories up and I got a stunning view of The Strip in the distance, blinking and vibrant, uninterested in the lateness of the hour. It was ready to go, all day every day. It danced and pulsed and begged us to join it, and I felt myself smile as I stared at it. I’d been here before as a kid with my parents but not since I’d grown up. Not since I could actually enjoy it.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Kellen didn’t reply. He stood next to me and kept his mouth shut and his posture rigid, and it was only then that it occurred to me that this was the first time he’d been back since he left with his mom. I couldn’t imagine what this felt like for him and I ached in my chest with each silent breath he pulled into his lungs.

  “Are you okay?” I asked gently.

  He nodded silently, his signature response, and I let it go. I didn’t push. Instead I followed.

  He led me out of the garage down onto the street where we walked farther from the famous Strip and deeper into the darkness, straight toward a towering, glistening building set off from the main attraction.

  The lights across the top read boldly The Palms.

  “Is this where we’re staying?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, taking my hand as we crossed a small side street. “It’s where my dad lives.”

  I almost tripped, over the curb and his words. I’d forgotten the name of the hotel his dad held permanent residence in and when he offered to make all of the hotel arrangements never in my wildest dreams did I think for a second that he would take us to the same hotel as his dad.

  “Does he know we’re here?” I asked.

  “Your dad told him. I have his phone number. I’m supposed to call him.”

  “When?”

  “When I’m ready.”

  The inside was different than I expected – very dark and modern. Sleek and minimalist but also grand. High ceilings with dark paneling reaching all the way up to the top. Dark leather benches, gray floors, white ceilings. It was elegant and simple but reeked of money. I was used to the scent but I’d never particularly loved it.

  Kellen led me to the front desk where he gave the receptionist his name.

  “Mr. Coulter, wonderful,” she beamed. “Welcome to The Palms.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mr. Thorpe has left a message for you.”

  The bubbly brunette in all black handed Kellen a dark envelope. He balanced it between his fingertips, almost like he was worried it would explode.

  “Thank you,” he repeated, still staring at the envelope. “We’d like to check in.”

  “It’s been taken care of,” she assured him proudly. “The room keys are in the envelope.”

  “Don’t you need our credit card?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “No. It’s all been taken care of.”

  “By who?”

  Kellen snapped the envelope sharply against the counter, turning to face me with empty eyes. “Who do you think?”

  “Your dad,” I guessed reluctantly.

  “He’s your father?” the girl asked, still smiling. “I knew you must be family. You look so much alike.”

  Kellen turned abruptly and headed for the elevators without a word.

  “Not the compliment you think it is,” I told the girl by way of apology, following Kellen slowly.

  He waited for me, holding the door to the elevator until I got inside. We let it close, leaving us alone before either of us spoke, though by the time the mirrored surface of the doors went still the occupancy of the elevator had doubled. Throw in the heavy presence of his dad inside that thick, black envelope and we were at capacity.

  “What’s our room number?” I asked quietly.

  He handed me the envelope. “It’s probably in there.”

  “How much of this am I reading?”

  “As much or as little as you want.”

  “Why are you so mad about him paying for our room? He’s been throwing money at you every month of your entire life. A couple hundred dollars on a hotel room shouldn’t mean much.”

  “It’s not the room.”

  “It’s what the girls said?”

  He grunted, rubbing his hand over his face. “What’s the note say?”

  Inside the envelope were two black card keys and a small, stark white piece of notecard no bigger than a business card. All it said was:

  “Enjoy.”

  Kellen scowled at me, then the note in my hand. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Handwritten though.”

  He didn’t reply. He stood staring at the card in my hand in the reflection on the doors and he didn’t move. Neither did the elevator.

  “So…” I began slowly, “what room are we in?”

  Kellen chuckled softly. “I don’t know.”

  “I bet the receptionist knew.”

  “Do you want to call her?”

  “You could call your dad. I bet he knows.”

  Kellen pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to me. “Go for it.”

  I took it hesitantly. “Are you serious?”

  “We gotta find our room, right?”

  I pulled up his contacts, hesitating. “I’m scared to ask what his number is labeled.”

  “Thorpe, Barkley.”

  I shook my head, scrolling down to the Ts. “That’s creepily mild compared to what I expected.”

  “What’d you expect?”

  “Honestly? I expected you not to keep his number at all.”

  The phone rang two times before it was picked up. I anticipated the sound of a casino in the background – digital bells and whistles, men grousing over a bad hand of poker or a shit roll in craps. What I got and what I was ultimately startled by was Bach, soft and low.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. Is this Mr. Thorpe?”

  “This is Barkley. Who is this?”

  “Jenna. Uh, Jenna Monroe. You don’t know me, but—“

  “Dan’s daughter,” he said warmly, his voice low and thick like honey. “The tattoo artist.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “It’s good to hear from you, sweetheart. Are you with him? Is he here?”

  “Is my dad here? No, he’s in—Oh,” I looked sideways at the towering ball of nerves and anxious energy standing next to me. “You mean Kellen. Yeah, Kellen is here. We’re in the hotel. We actually just got your note. Thank you for the room. That was nice of you.”

  “No problem. No problem. I get ‘em for a song. Let me know if there are any problems with it. We can probably get you upgraded if you want.”

  “No, we’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  “Are you done for the night? Do you want to meet at the bar and have a drink? Or maybe you’re hungry. There’s a great restaurant on the grounds. Incredible prime rib, I promise you.”

  I grinned at his enthusiasm. “No, I think we’re more tired than anything. We were in such a rush at the front desk we didn’t get our room number. I didn’t know if maybe you knew?”

  “Eight-oh-eight,” he supplied instantly. “Why don’t we do breakfast in the morning? What time do the two of you get up?”

  Kellen could hear his dad through the phone’s speaker pressed to my ear, the deep tenor of his voice so like his own that it must have been disorienting. He met my eyes in the mirror and shook his head slightly.

  “Early, but we have to be to a sign in for the match Kellen is here to fight so we won’t have time. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s alright. I understand. I have an engagement in the afternoon that could last into the evening so I’m sorry I can’t commit to lunch or dinner. You and Kellen should come by. I’ll have passes sent to your room in the morning. You’ll enjoy it.”

  “What is it?”

  “The Raise The River Celebrity Poker Tournament. Yeah, I’m playing with a couple other Poker World Series winners and celebrities. Tom Hardy, Judd Apatow, one of the One Direction kids, Rihanna.”

  “What’s it benefitting?”

  He paused, and that one hesitation gave me a great insight into the intelligence and sensitivity of Barkley Thorpe. He knew in some way Kellen was listening. He knew what his answer would mean to him.

  “Cancer research,” he replied solemnly. “It’s the only cause I donate to.”

  Kellen’s eyes met mine in the mirror and I saw the mask go up. I saw him shut down, shut me out, shut the world away, and I had to make the call on my own.

  “Thank you, Mr. Thorpe. We wouldn’t miss it.”

  “No, thank you, Jenna. I know I have you to thank for this and I do. From the bottom of my heart.”

  “Word of advice?” I suggested mildly.

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t keep him from pissing upstream, if you know what I mean.”

  He chuckled. “I know exactly what you mean and I’m grateful just the same. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see you then.”

  I ended the call and handed Kellen back his phone. He silently slid it into his pocket.

  “You heard everything?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Everything but the room number.”

  “Eight-oh-eight.”

  Kellen’s responding laugh was enigmatic and dark as he punched the number eight with his knuckle. He used his right hand.

  “Superstitious son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kellen

  Signing in for the match took ten minutes. It was a joke. I weighed in, signed a paper saying I wouldn’t sue the venue for damages to my anything and everything, presented my amateur boxers card, and that was it. We were sent on our way. See you tomorrow. Have a nice day.

  It all went down at a nice enough gym. Big space, newer equipment. The place was pretty deserted though and I got the impression they were hosting the championship as a publicity stunt. Bring people in to see a fight, check out the space, maybe get some new members on fight night. I didn’t care. I’d fight wherever they told me to against anyone they put in front of me.

  Two years ago when my hand and head were solid I’d have said I’d win, but these days I didn’t know. It was like my life had flipped; everything in the ring going out of focus while the rest of my life was snapping neatly into place. It was an odd shift, one I didn’t quite know how to handle, but as I walked down The Strip in the early afternoon sun with Jenna under my arm and the ring on her finger catching the light, I decided I didn’t need to know.

  Everything around me was changing and boxing would have to change with it. I was getting older, my body had definitely taken its share of beatings, and I didn’t need the fight the way I used to. The itch in my palms could be soothed in the cool silk of Jenna’s hair, the long curve of her back, and the anger I used to live in just wasn’t there anymore. Not all consuming the way it used to be. I was happy more often than not for the first time in my life and whether it was Jenna or therapy or both, it was good. I was good, and win or lose tomorrow I decided that this fight would be my last.

  “It’s what?!” Jenna nearly shrieked.

  “It’s my last fight,” I repeated.

  She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re fucking with me.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m done.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t need it anymore. I’m happy without it.”

  “So you’ll just give it up? All of it? Walk away from your life’s passion?”

  “No, not exactly,” I admitted. “I’ll still go to the gym and I’ll spar. I’ll train, but I’ll do it for the workout. I won’t enter any more fights like this. No more competitions.”

  Jenna looked worried. Troubled in a tender way that made me want to hug her and tell her it would be alright. She thought I was making a huge mistake and I understood that. When I’d been engaged to Laney she’d demanded I give up boxing and I had. And I’d been miserable. But I’d been unhappy with everything back then, my entire life a long list of things I wanted nothing to do with from my job to my fiancé, and taking away the one thing that was still mine was the last straw that broke my back. It broke my spirit. Jenna didn’t want me to go back to that.

  I stopped walking, turning her to face me. “I want this,” I told her seriously. “I want a break from it. My hand is murder to fight with and it’s just not worth it anymore. I still love the sport and I want to train. Hell, I might even like to teach. I’m finally in a good place in my life, but boxing got me through hell and if I could give that to someone else that’d mean more to me than any titles or wins ever have.”

  Jenna grinned sadly. “You’d be a great teacher.”

  “I think I’d like doing it. I’ve been teaching Callum to box and when he’s not busting my balls about switching to MMA, it’s fun. It’s more fun than breaking my hand on a stranger’s jaw every other week.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, stepping up and hugging me hard. “If that’s what you’re sure you want to do, then I’m with you.”

  I wrapped my arms around her, resting my cheek against her head. “You’ll still want me when I’m not a champion anymore?”

  “You’re not a champion now.”

  I pinched her side, making her squeal and pull away with a laugh. “I’m kidding! I know you’ve got trophies coming out your ass.”

  “One more wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Then you better make this match count.”

  I took her hand in mine, urging her forward. “I don’t know any other way to fight.”

  We took our time meandering around some of the hotels, checking out the facilities, the nearly vacant restaurants, and the swimming pools hidden in the back. I wanted to lay out with Jenna, see her in her bikini with her tattoos displayed to the world but set off limits by the ring on her finger, but she had other plans. In her purse were the passes Barkley had sent to our room this morning and when two o’clock rolled around and she steered me toward The Luxor hotel where the game was being played. I didn’t protest. I didn’t see the point.