Page 30 of Unbreakable Thread

“Andrew.”

“Yes, it’s me, Ney. So, I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

“I need to go.”

“Wait.” Andrew breathes deeply on the phone.

“What do you want?”

“Look, your dad promised me I would be part owner with him and Justin. The problem is we never had the chance to get the paperwork together. Justin fired me. Do you think you can talk to him, sweetheart?”

The sound of his voice makes me want to gag. “Fuck off.” I hang up. He has some nerve calling, and I’m so glad my dad, or is it Rowan? Hell, I don’t even know what to call him.

Ten minutes later, my phone rings again. I don’t check who’s calling because, of course, it’s Andrew again. “What the fuck do you want?” I press the key fob to start my car. I wanted to drive my Mustang, but it’s getting some repairs done. I accidentally hit a pole. Small dent but noticeable.

“Rainey, it’s Carlos.”

Fuck. “Oh, sorry, I thought it was someone else.” I clear my throat. “What can I help you with?” I know what he’s going to say.

“Did Max tell you about the approval for the fight in eight months?”

Eight months.

“Yes. He did.” I know about the fight, but not that it is in eight months. He didn’t tell me.

His voice rises. “It’s going to be big. The main event. Max is already getting plenty of attention as a boxer. Just imagine when it hits the press.” He pauses, his enthusiasm faltering for a moment. “You do want to see him shine, don’t you? Or would you rather he stay safe in obscurity?”

“Yes,” I say, then quickly add, “Of course I want him to shine.”

“There will be plenty of eyes on him.” His fingers drum on his desk, I assume. “This is all happening too fast. Opportunities like this don’t come around twice.”

I know all this. I would never hold him back. I’m happy for him. I shove my drink into the holder angrily. “Carlos, with all due respect, I know more than anyone that Max deserves this. He’s worked hard, fought in the Underground for a hell of a long time to support himself.”

“Then you know what you need to do. Any type of distraction you give him will cause him to lose it all. I won’t stand here and watch it happen.”

Drake’s voice surfaces in my head from the other night. “You’re living your dream.”

Unfortunately, Carlos is right. I have so much baggage, especially now that I have to pick up the letter from the attorney’s office. My memory is still returning in pieces. Max will be training hard for the next eight months. I need to get myself in order. Not drag him into my mess while he’s trying to become something.

“I do know, Carlos. I’ll do what’s best for him, like you said the other day. After all, I’m his trigger.”

He laughs. “I didn’t say it exactly like that, but you are a trigger. He deserves a life where he can forget the past, not look at it every day.”

That’s a slap in the face, but it’s true.

“I see. As I said, I’ll do what’s best for him.” I hit the end-call button, and a single tear rolls down my cheek. Then I take a deep breath, wipe my tears away, and drive to work.

Chapter 9

Rainey

I was so exhausted from today’s marathon of baking—twelve dozen cupcakes with buttercream roses, six birthday cakes, eight dozen double chocolate cookies, and four trays of cinnamon rolls—plus restocking the display cases and counting every last bag of flour for inventory, that I collapsed into bed around ten. Earlier, I’d called Max around nine and got his voicemail, which sent a prickle of worry down my spine since he always responds with at least a quick text. I forced down lukewarm pasta from a plastic container. After that, I stood under the shower until the water ran cold, my muscles aching as I finally crawled between the sheets. The heavy, uneven thud-scrape of someone stumbling up the stairs is what jolts me awake.

“S-sunshine,” Max slurs up the stairs.

Quickly, I get out of the covers and run toward the stairs. “Max?” I’ve never seen Max drunk. Never. He’s never been much of a drinker because of his dad, I assume. He heaves, leaning against the rails. I rush to hold him up. His tall, muscular body makes it hard to hold him up. “Honey, where have you been?”

“Out. Drank.” His arms go around my shoulders as I wrap my arms around his waist and walk us to the bedroom. He slumps onto the bed. His eyes trail over my bare legs. “You…pretty.”